









n 



4 








» 




« 







MR. WITT’S WIDOW 


\ 


BY 

ANTHONY HOPE 

AUTHOR OF 

“DOLLY DIALOGUES,’* “PRISONER OF ZENDA,” 
BTC., ETC. 



New York: 

F, M. BUCKLES & COMPANY 
9- ii East Sixteenth Street 
i 903 




A ^ 

'O K) 


Copyright, 1892, 


UM1TED STATES BOOK COMPANY 


[Ail rights reserved .] 


CONTENTS. 


ourm 

1. How Georoe Neston jumped m 

II. Why George Neston jumped ... 

III. “What are Quarter Sessions ?” 

IY. A Serpent in Eden 
Y. The First Paragraph— and Others ... 
VL A Successful Ordeal ... 

YII. An Impossible Bargain 

VIII. The Fracas at Mrs. Pocklington’s 

IX. Gerald Neston satisfies himself 

X. Reminiscences of a Nobleman ... 

XI. Presenting an Honest Woman 

XII. Not before those Girls ! 

XIII. Containing more than one Ultimatum 

XIV. Neaera’s Last Card 

XV. A Letter for Mr. Gerald ... 

XVI There is an Explosion 


n« 

1 

15 

26 

38 

52 

65 

82 

95 

109 

122 

136 

150 

162 

172 

183 

197 


CONTENT & 


vi 

ciumii 

X VIL Lauiu differs ... ... «* 208 

XVIII. Georg* nearly goes to Brighton 219 

XIX. Some one to speak to ... ^ 227 

XX. Fate's Instruments 23? 




MR. WITT’S WIDOW. 


CHAPTER L 

HOW GEORGS NK8TON JUMPED. 

The Nestons, of Tottlebury Q-range in the 
county of Suffolk, were an ancient and honour- 
able family, never very distinguished or very 
rich, but yet for many generations back 
always richer and more distinguished than 
the common run of mankind. The men had 
been for the most part able and upright, 
tenacious of their claims, and mindful of their 
duties ; the women had respected their betters, 
exacted respect from their inferiors, and 
educated their brothers’ wives in the Neston 
ways ; and the whole race, while confessing 
individual frailties, would have been puzzled 
to point out how, as a family, it had failed to 
live up to the position in which Providence 


2 


2 


MB. WITTS WIDOW. 


and the Constitution had placed it. The 
error, if any, had indeed been on the other 
side in one or two cases. The last owner of 
the G-range, a gay old bachelor, had scorned 
the limits of his rents and his banking-account, 
and added victories on the turf to the family 
laurels at a heavy cost to the family revenues. 
His sudden death had been mourned as a 
personal loss, but silently acknowledged as a 
dynastic gain, and ten years of the methodical 
rule of his brother Roger had gone far to 
efface the ravages of his merry reign. The 
younger sons of the Nestons served the State 
or adorned the professions, and Roger had 
spent a long and useful life in the Office of 
Commerce. He had been a valuable official, 
and his merits had not gone unappreciated. 
Fame he had neither sought nor attained, 
and his name had come but little before 
the public, its rare appearances in the news- 
papers generally occurring on days when our 
Gracious Sovereign completed another year of 
her beneficent life, and was pleased to mark 
the occasion by conferring honour on Mr. 
Roger Neston. When this happened, all the 
leader-writers looked him up in “Men of 
the Time,” or “ Whitaker,” or some other 


HOW OEOEOE NESTON JUMPED. 


3 


standard work of reference, and remarked 
that few appointments would meet with more 
universal public approval, a proposition which 
the public must be taken to have endorsed 
with tacit unanimity. 

Mr. Neston went on his way, undisturbed by 
his moments of notoriety, but quietly pleased 
with his red ribbon, and, when he entered 
into possession of the family estate, continued 
to go to the office with unabated regularity. 
At last he reached the pinnacle of his par- 
ticular ambition, and, as Permanent Head of 
his Department, for fifteen years took a large 
share in the government of a people almost 
unconscious of his existence, until the moment 
when it saw the announcement that on his 
retirement he had been raised to the peerage 
by the title of Baron Tottlebury. Then the 
chorus of approval broke forth once again, 
and the new lord had many friendly pats on 
the back he was turning to public life. 
Henceforth he sat silent in the House of 
Lords, and wrote letters to the Times on 
subjects which the cares of office had not 
previously left him leisure to study. 

But fortune was not yet tired of smiling on 
the Nestons. Lord Tottlebury, before accept- 


4 


MB. WITT 8 WIDOW. 


ing his new dignity, had impressed upon hia 
son Gerald the necessity of seeking the where- 
with to gild the coronet by a judicious marriage- 
Gerald was by no means loth. He had never 
made much progress at the Bar, and felt that 
his want of success contrasted unfavourably 
with the growing practice of his cousin George, 
a state of things very unfitting, as George 
represented a younger branch than Gerald. 
A rich marriage, combined with his father’s 
improved position, opened to him prospects 
of a career of public distinction, and, what 
was more important, of private leisure, better 
fitted to his tastes and less trying to his 
patience ; and, by an unusual bit of luck, he 
was saved from any scruples about marrying 
for money by the fact that he was already 
desperately in love with a very rich woman. 
She was of no high birth, it is true, and she 
was the widow of a Manchester merchant ; 
but this same merchant, to the disgust of his 
own relatives, had left her five thousand a year 
at her absolute disposal. The last fact easily 
outweighed the two first in Lord Tottlebury’s 
mind, while Gerald rested his action on the 
sole ground that Neaera Witt was the 
prettiest girl in London, and, by Jove, he 


BOW GEORGE NESTON JUMPED. 5 

believed in the world ; only, of course, if she 
had money too, all the better. 

Accordingly, the engagement was an accom- 
plished fact. Mrs. Witt had shown no more 
than a graceful disinclination to become Mrs, 
Neston. At twenty-five perpetual devotion 
to the memory of such a mere episode as her 
first marriage had been was neither to be 
desired nor expected, and Neaera was very 
frankly in love with Gerald Neston, a hand- 
some, open-faced, strapping fellow, who won 
her heart mainly because he was so very un- 
like the late Mr. Witt. Everybody envied 
Gerald, and everybody congratulated Neaera 
on having escaped the various chasms that 
are supposed to yawn in the path of rich 
young widows. The engagement was an- 
nounced once, and contradicted as prema- 
ture, and then announced again ; and, in a 
word, everything pursued its pleasant and 
accustomed course in these matters. Finally, 
Lord Tottlebury in due form entertained 
Mrs. Witt at dinner, by way of initiation 
into the Neston mysteries. 

It was for this dinner that Mr. George 
Neston, barrister-at-law, was putting on his 
white tie one May evening in his chambers 


MB. WITT 8 WIDOW 


off Piccadilly. George was the son of Lord 
Tottlebury’s younger brother. His father 
had died on service in India, leaving a wife, 
who survived him but a few years, and one 
small boy, who had developed into a rising 
lawyer of two or three-and-thirty, and was 
at this moment employed in thinking what a 
lucky dog Gerald was, if all people said about 
Mrs. Witt were true. Not that George 
envied his cousin his bride. His roving days 
were over. He had found what he wanted 
for himself, and Mrs. Witt’s beauty, if she 
were beautiful, was nothing to him. So he 
thought with mingled joy and resignation.- 
Still, however much you may be in love with 
somebody else, a pretty girl with five thousand 
a year is luck, and there’s an end of it ! So 
concluded George Neston as he got into his 
hansom, and drove to Portman Square. 

The party was but small, for the Nestons 
were not one of those families that ramify 
into bewildering growths of cousins. Lord 
Tottlebury of course was there, a tall, spare, 
rather stem-looking man, and his daughter 
Maud, a bright and pretty girl of twenty, 
and Gerald, in a flutter ill concealed by the 
very extravagance of nonchalance. Then there 


HOW GEOBOB NB6T0H JVMJtEIt. 


were a couple of aunts and a male cousin and 
his wife, and George himself. Three of the 
guests were friends, not relatives. Mrs. 
Bourne had been the chosen intimate of Lord 
Tottlebury’s dead wife, and he honoured his 
wife’s memory by constant attention to her 
friend. Mrs. Bourne brought her daughter 
Isabel, and Isabel had come full of curiosity 
to see Mrs. Witt, and also hoping to see 
George Neston, for did she not know what 
pleasure it would give him to meet her ? 
Lastly, there towered on the rug the huge 
form of Mr. Blodwell, Q.C., an old friend of 
Lord Tottlebury’s and George’s first tutor 
and kindly guide in the law, famous for 
rasping speeches in court and good stories 
out of it, famous, too, as one of the tallest 
men and quite the fattest man at the Bar. 
Only Neaera Witt was wanting, and before 
Mr. Blodwell had got well into the famous 
story about Baron Samuel and the dun cow 
Neaera Witt was announced. 

Mrs. Witt’s widowhood was only two years 
old, and she was at this time almost unknown 
to society. None of the party, except Gerald 
and his father, had seen her, and they all 
looked with interest to the door when the 


s 


MS. W1TTB WIDOW. 


butler announced her name. She had put 
off her mourning altogether for the first time, 
and came in clothed in a gown of deep red, 
with a long train that gave her dignity, her 
golden hair massed low on her neck, and her 
pale, clear complexion just tinged with the 
suspicion of a blush as she instinctively 
glanced round for her lover. The entry was, 
no doubt, a small triumph. The girls were 
lost in generous admiration ; the men were 
startled ; and Mr. Blodwell, finishing the 
evening at the House of Commons, remarked 
to young Sidmouth Yane, the Lord Presi- 
dent’s private secretary (unpaid), “ I hope, 
my boy, you may live as long as I have, 
and see as many pretty women ; but you’ll 
never see a prettier than Mrs. Witt. Her 
face! her hair! and Yane, my boy, her 
waist ! ” But here the division-bell rang, 
and Mr. Blodwell hastened off to vote against 
a proposal aimed at deteriorating, under the 
specious pretence of cheapening, the adminis- 
tration of justice. 

Lord Tottlebury, advancing to meet Neaera, 
took her by the hand and proudly presented 
her to his guests. She greeted each grace* 
fully and graciously until she came to George 


ROW GEORGE NESTON JUMPED. 


9 


Neston. As she saw his solid jaw and clean- 
shaved keen face, a sudden light that looked 
like recollection leaped ta her eyes, and her 
cheek flushed a little. The change was so 
distinct that George was confirmed in the 
fancy he had had from the first moment she 
came in, that somewhere before he had seen 
that golden hair and those dark eyes, that 
combination of harmonious opposites that 
made her beauty no less special in kind that 
in degree. He advanced a step, his hand held 
half out, exclaiming — 

“ Surely ” 

But there he stopped dead, and his hand 
fell to his side, for all signs of recognition had 
faded from Mrs. Witt’s face, and she gave 
him only the same modestly gracious bow 
that she had bestowed on the rest of the 
party. The incident was over, leaving 
George sorely puzzled, and Lord Tottlebury 
a little startled. Gerald had seen nothing, 
having been employed in issuing orders for 
the march in to dinner. 

The dinner was a success. Lord Tottlebury 
unbent ; he was very cordial and, at moments, 
almost jovial. Gerald was in heaven, or at 
least sitting directly opposite and in full 


10 


MB. WITT 8 WIDOW. 


view of it. Mr. Blodwell enjoyed himself 
immensely : his classic stories had never yet 
won so pleasant a reward as Neaera’s low 
rich laugh and dancing eyes. George ought 
to have enjoyed himself, for he was next 
to Isabel Bourne, and Isabel, heartily recog- 
nising that she was not to-night, as, to do her 
justice, she often was, the prettiest girl in 
the room, took the more pains to be kind 
and amusing. But George was ransacking 
the lumber-rooms of memory, or, to put it 
less figuratively, wondering, and growing 
exasperated as he wondered in vain, where 
the deuce he’d seen the girl before. Onoe 
or twice his eyes met hers, and it seemed 
to him that he had caught her casting an 
inquiring apprehensive glance at him. When 
she saw that he was looking, her expression 
changed into one of friendly interest, ap- 
propriate to the examination of a prospective 
kinsman. 

“ What do you think of her ? ” asked Isabel 
Bourne, in a low voice. “Beautiful, isn’t 
she?” 

“ She is indeed,” George answered, “ I 
can’t help thinking I’ve seen her somewhere 
before*” 


HOW QEOBQE HESTON JUMPED. 11 

“She is a person one would remember, 
isn’t she? Was it in Manchester? ” 

“I don’t think so. I haven’t been in 
Manchester more than two or three times 
in my life.” 

“ Well, Maud says Mrs. Witt wasn’t 
brought up there.” 

“ Where was she brought up ? ” 

“ I don’t know,” said Isabel, “ and I don’t 
think Maud knew either. I asked Gerald, 
and he said she probably dropped down from 
heaven somewhere a few years ago.” 

“ Perhaps that’s how I come to remember 
her,” suggested George. 

Failing this explanation, he confessed 
himself puzzled, and determined to dismiss 
the matter from his thoughts for the present. 
Aided by Isabel Bourne, he was very suc- 
cessful in this effort : a pretty girl’s company 
is the best modern substitute for the waters of 
Lethe. 

Nevertheless, his interest remained strong 
enough to make him join the group which 
Gerald and Mr. Blodwell formed with Neaera 
as soon as the men went upstairs. Mr. Blod- 
well made no secret of the fact that it was 
with him a case of 1 oy§ $t first eight, and 


12 


MB. WITT'S WIDOW. 


openly regretted that his years prevented 
him fighting Gerald for his prize. Gerald 
listened with the complacent happiness of a 
secure lover, and Neaera gravely apologised 
for not having waited to make her choice till 
she had seen Mr. Blodwell. 

“ But at least you had heard of me ? ” he 
urged. 

“I am terribly ignorant,” she said. “I 
don’t believe I ever did.” 

“Neaera’s not one of the criminal classes, 
you see, sir,” Gerald put in. 

“ He taunts me,” exclaimed Mr. Blodwell, 
“ with the Old Bailey ! ” 

George had come up in time to hear the 
last two remarks. Neaera saw him, and 
smiled pleasantly. 

“ Here’s a young lady who knows nothing 
about the law, George,” continued Blodwell. 
“ She never heard of me — nor of you either, 
I dare say. It reminds me of what they 
used to say about old Hawkins. Old Daw 
never had a brief, but he was Recorder 
of some little borough or other — place 
with a prisoner once in two years, you 
know— I forget the name. Let’s see — yes, 
Peckton.” 


MOW GEORGE NEBTON JUMPED. 11 


“ Peckton ! ” exclaimed George Neston, 
loudly and abruptly. 

Neaera made a sudden motion with one 
hand — a sudden motion suddenly checked — 
and her fan dropped with a clatter on the 
polished boards. 

Gerald dived for it, so did Mr. Blodwell, 
and their heads came in contact with such 
violence as to drive all reminiscences of 
Recorder Dawkins out of Mr. Blodwell’s 
brain. They were still indulging in recri- 
minations, when Neaera swiftly left them, 
crossed to Lord Tottlebury, and took her 
leave. 

George went to open the door for her. 
She looked at him curiously. 

“ Will you come and see me, Mr. Neston ? ” 
she asked. 

He bowed gravely, answering nothing. 

The party broke up, and as George was 
seeing Mr. Blodwell’s bulk fitted into a four- 
wheeler, the old gentleman asked, 

“ Why did you do that, George ?” 

“ What ? ” 

u Jump, when I said Peckton.” 

“ Oh, I used to go sessions there, you 

know.” 


14 


MB. WITTB WIDOW. 


“Do you always jump when people men* 
tion the places you used to go sessions at ? ” 

“ Generally,” replied George. 

“1 see,” said Mr. Blodwell, lighting his 
cigar. “ A bad habit, George ; it excites 
remark. Tell him the House.” 

“ Good night, sir,” said George. “ I hope 
your head is better.” 

Mr. Blodwell snorted indignantly as he 
pulled up the window, and was driven away 
to his duties 


( U ) 


CHAPTER It 

WHY GEORGE NESTON JUMPED. 

“How could I ever have forgotten?” said 
George, aloud, as he walked home. “I re- 
member her now as if it was yesterday.” 

Memory, like much else that appertains to 
man, is a queer thing, and the name of Peckton 
had supplied the ODe link missing in his recol- 
lection. How, indeed, had he ever forgotten 
it ? Can a man forget his first brief any 
more than his first love ? — so like are they in 
their infinite promise, so like in their very 
finite results ! 

The picture was now complete in his 
mind : the little, muggy court at Peckton ; 
old Dawkins, his wig black with age, the 
rest of him brown with snuff ; the fussy 
clerk ; the prosecuting counsel, son to the 


16 


MB. WITTS WIDOW. 


same fussy clerk; he himself, thrusting his 
first guinea into his pocket with shaking 
hand and beating heart (nervous before old 
Daw ! Imagine !) ; the fat, peaceful police- 
man ; the female warder, in her black straw- 
bonnet trimmed with dark-blue ribbons ; and 
last of all, in the dock, a young girl, in 
shabby, nay, greasy, black, with pale cheeks, 
disordered hair, and swollen eyelids, gazing 
in blank terror on the majesty of the law, 
strangely expressed in the Recorder’s ancient 
person. And, beyond all doubt or imagina- 
tion of a doubt, the girl was Gerald’s bride, 
Neaera Witt. 

“ I could swear to her to-day ! ” cried 

George. 

She had scraped together a guinea for his 
fee. “ I don’t know where she got it from,” 
the fat policeman said with professional 
cynicism as he gave it to George. “ She 
pleads guilty and wants you to address 
the court.” So George had, with infinite 
trepidation, addressed the court. 

The girl had a father — drunk when not 
starving, and starving when not drunk. Now 
he was starving, and she had stolen the shoes 
(oh ! the sordidness of it all !) to pawn, and 


WET GEORGE NE8T0N JUMPED. 1 ? 

buy food— or drink. It was a case for a 
caution merely — and — and — and George him- 
self, being young to the work, stammered 
and stuttered as much from emotion as from 
fright. You see the girl was pretty ! 

All old Daw said was, “ Do you know 
anything about her, policeman?” and the 
fat policeman said her father was a bad lot, 
and the girl did no work, and 

“ That s enough,” said old Daw ; and, 
leaning forward, he pronounced his sentence : 

“I’ll deal lightly with you. Only”— 
shaking a snuffy forefinger — “ take care you 
don’t come here again ! One calendar month, 
with hard labour.” 

And the girl, gazing back at honest old 
Daw, who would not have hurt a fly except 
from the Bench, softly murmured, “ Gruel, 
cruel, cruel ! ’ and was led away by the 
woman in the black straw bonnet. 

W hereupon George did a very unpro- 
fessional thing. He gave his guinea, his 
firstborn, son, back to the fat policeman, say- 
ing. 44 Give it her when she comes out. I 
can’t take her money.” At, which the police- 
man smiled a smile that convicted George of 
terrible youthfulnesg. 


© 


18 


MB. WITT'S WIDOW. 


It was all complete — all except the name 
by which the fussy clerk had called on the 
girl to plead, and which old Dawkins had 
mumbled out in sentencing her. That 
utterly escaped him. He was sure it 
was not “Neaera” — of course not “Neaera 
Witt ; ” but not “ Neaera Anything,” either. 
He would have remembered “ Neaera.” 

“ What on earth was it ? ” he asked himself 
as he unlocked his door and went upstairs. 
“ Not that it matters much. Names are 
easily changed.” 

George Neston shared his chambers in 
Half Moon Street with the Honourable 
Thomas Buchanan Fillingham Myles, com- 
monly known (as the peerage has it) as 
Tommy Myles. Tommy also had a small 
room in the Temple Chambers, where the 
two Nestons and Mr. Blodwell pursued their 
livelihood ; but Tommy’s appearances at the 
latter resort were few and brief. He did not 
trouble George much in Half Moon Street 
either, being a young man much given to 
society of all sorts, and very prone to be in 
bed when most people are up, and vice versd. 
However, to-night he happened to be at 
4iome, and George found him with his feet 


WHY GEORGE NESTON JUMPED. 19 

on the mantelpiece, reading the evening 
paper. 

“ Well, what’s she like ? ” asked Tommy. 

“ She’s uncommonly pretty, and very plea- 
sant,” said George. Why say more, before 
his mind was made up ? 

“ Who was she ? ” pursued Tommy, rising 
and filling his pipe. 

“Ah! I don’t know. I wish I did.” 

“ Don’t see that it matters to you. Any- 
body else there ? ” 

“ Oh, a few people.” 

“ Miss Bourne ? ” 

“ Yes, she was there.” 

Tommy winked, sighed prodigiously, and 
took a large drink of brandy and soda. 

“ Where have you been ? ” asked George, 
changing the subject. 

“ Oh, to the Escurial — to a vulgar, really 
a very vulgar entertainment — as vulgar as 
you could find in London.” 

“ Are you going out again ? ” 

“ My dear George ! It’s close on twelve ! ” 
said Tommy, in reproving tones. 

“ Or to bed ? ” 

“ Na George, you hurt my feelings. Can 
it be that you wish to be alone ? ” 


20 


ME. WITT'S WIDOW. 


“ Well, at any rate, hold your tongue, 
Tommy. I want to think.” 

“ Only one word. Has she been cruel ? ” 

“ Oh, get out. Here, give me a drink.” 

Tommy subsided into the BulTs-eye, that 
famous print whose motto is Lux in tenebris 
(meaning, of course, publicity in shady 
places), and George set himself to consider 
what he had best do in the matter of Neaera 
Witt. 

The difficulties of the situation were obvious 
enough, but to George’s mind they consisted 
not so much in the question of what to do as 
in that of how to do it. He had been tolerably 
clear from the first that Gerald must not 
marry Neaera without knowing what he 
could tell him; if he liked to do it after- 
wards, well and good. But of course he 
would not. No Neston would, thought 
George, who had his full share of the family 
pride. Men of good family made disgraceful 
marriages, it is true, but not with thieves; 
and anyhow nothing of the kind was recorded 
in the Neston annals. How should he look 
his uncle and Gerald in the face if he held 
his tongue ? His course was very clear. 
Only — well, it was an uncommonly disagree- 


WET GEORGE NESTON JUMPED. 21 


able part to be cast for — the denouncer and 
exposer of a woman who very probably was 
no worse than many another, and was un- 
questionably a great deal better-looking than 
most others. The whole position smacked 
unpleasantly of melodrama, and George must 
figure in the character of the villain, a villain 
with the best motives and the plainest duty. 
One hope only there was. Perhaps Mrs. 
Witt would see the wisdom of a timely with- 
drawal. Surely she would. She could never 
face the storm. Then Gerald need know 
nothing about it, and six months’ travel — say 
to America, where pretty girls live — would 
bind up his broken heart. Only — again only 
— George did not much fancy the interview 
that lay before him. Mrs. Witt would pro- 
bably cry, and he would feel a brute, 
and 

“Mr. Neston,” announced Tommy’s valet, 
opening the door. 

Gerald had followed his cousin home, very 
anxious to be congratulated, and still more 
anxious not to appear anxious. Tommy 
received him with effusion. Why hadn’t he 
been asked to the dinner ? Might he call on 
Mrs. Witt? He heard she was a clipper; 


22 


MR. WITT' 8 WIDOW. 


and so foi th. George’s felicitations stuck in 
his throat, but he got them out, hoping that 
Neaera would free him from the necessity of 
eating them up at some early date. Gerald 
was radiant. He seemed to have forgotten 
all about “ Peckton,” though he was loud in 
denouncing the unnatural hardness of Mr. 
Blodwell’s head. Oh, and the last thing 
Neaera said was, would George go and 
see her ? 

“ She took quite a fancy to you, old man,” 
he said affectionately. “ She said you 
reminded her of a judge.” 

George smiled. Was Neaera practising 
double entente on her betrothed ? 

“What an infernally unpleasant thing to 
say ! ” exclaimed Tommy. 

“Of course I shall go and see her,” said 
George, — “ to-morrow, if I can find time.” 

“ So shall I,’" added Tommy. 

Gerald was pleased. He liked to see his 
taste endorsed with the approbation of his 
friends. “ It’s about time old George, here, 
followed suit, isn’t it, Tommy? I’ve given 
him a lead.” 

George’s attachment to Isabel Bourne was 
an accepted fact among his acquaintance. 


WET QEOBQE NEBTON JUMPED. 23 


He never denied it: he did like her very 
much, and meant to marry her, if she would 
have him. And he did not really doubt that 
she would. If he had doubted, he would not 
have been so content to rest without an 
express assurance. As it was, there was no 
hurry. Let the practice grow a little more 
yet. He and Isabel understood one another, 
and, as soon as she was ready, he was ready. 
But long engagements were a nuisance to 
everybody. These were his feelings, and he 
considered himself, by virtue of them, to be 
in love with Isabel. There are many ways 
of being in love, and it would be a want of 
toleration to deny that George’s is one of 
them, although it is certainly very unlike 
some of the others. 

Tommy agreed that George was wasting 
his time, and with real kindness led Gerald 
back to the subject which filled his mind. 

Gerald gladly embraced the opportunity. 
“Where did I meet her? Oh, down at 
Brighton, last winter. Then, you know, I 
pursued her to Manchester, and found her 
living in no end of a swell villa in the 
outskirts of that abominable place. Neaera 
hated it, but of course she had to live there 


24 


MR. WITT'S WIDOW. 


while Witt was alive, and she had kept the 
house on.” 

“ She wasn’t Manchester-born, then ? " 

“ No. I don’t know where she was horn. 
Her father seems to have been a romantic 
sort of old gentleman. He was a painter by 
trade — an artist, I mean, you know, — land- 
scapes and so on.” 

“ And went about looking for bits of nature 
to murder, eh ? ” asked Tommy. 

“That’s about it. I don’t think he was 
any great shakes at it. At least, he didn’t 
make much; and at last he settled in 
Manchester, and tried to pick up a living, 
working for the dealers. Witt was a picture- 
fancier, and, when Neaera came to sell, he 
saw her, and ” 

“ The late Witt’s romance began ? ” 

“ Yes, confound him ! I’m beastly jealous 
of old Witt, though he is dead.” 

“ That’s ungrateful,” remarked George, 
“considering ” 

“Hush ! You’ll wound his feelings,” said 
Tommy. “ He’s forgotten all about the cash.” 

“ It’s all very well for you ” Gerald 

began. 

But George cut in, “ What was his name ? ” 


WHY QSOBQB NESTOH JUMFED. 2& 

“ Wi tt’s ? Oh, Jeremiah, I believe” 

“Witt? No. Hang Witt! The father’s 
name.” 

Oh ! Gale. A queer old boy he seems to 
have been— a bit of a scholar as well as an 
artist.” 

“ That accounts for the ‘ Neaera,’ I 
suppose,” said Tommy. 

“ Neaera Gale,” thought George. “ I don’t 
remember that.” 

“Pretty name, isn’t it?” asked the in- 
fatuated Gerald, 

“ Oh, dry up ! ” exclaimed Tommy. “ We 
^nt indulge you any more. Go home to 
bed. You can dream about her, you know.” 

. ^ erald accepted this hint, and retired, still 
m that state of confident bliss that filled 
George’s breast with trouble and dismay. 

“ 1 might as well be the serpent in Eden," 
he said, as he lay in bed, smoking dolefully. 


26 


MR WITT'S WIDOW. 


CHAPTER III. 

“WHAT ARE QUARTER-SESSIOEB?" 

The atmosphere was stormy at No. 3, 
Indenture Buildings, Temple. It was four 
o’clock, and Mr. Blodwell had come out of 
court in the worst of bad tempers. He was 
savage with George Neston, who, being in a 
case with him, had gone away and left him 
with nobody to tell him his facts. He was 
savage with Tommy Myles, who had refused 
to read some papers for him; savage with 
Mr. Justice Pounce, who had cut up his 
speech to the jury, — Pounce, who had been 
his junior a hundred times ! — savage with 
Mr. Timms, his clerk, because he was always 
savage with Timms when he was savage with 
other people. Tommy had fled before the 
storm ; and now, to Mr. Blodwell’s unbounded 


WHAT ARE QUARTER-SESSIONS t " 27 


indignation, George also was brushing his hat 
with the manifest intention of departure. 

“ In my time, rising juniors,” said Mr. 
Blodwell, with sarcasm, “ didn't leave 
chambers at four.” 

“ Business,” said George, putting on his 
gloves. 

“ Women,” answered his leader, briefly and 
scornfully. 

“ It’s the same thing, in this case. I am 
going to see Mrs. Witt.” 

Mr. Blodwell’s person expressed moral 
reprobation. George, however, remained 
unmoved, and the elder man stole a sharp 
glance at him. 

“ I don’t know what’s up, George,” he said, 
“ but take care of yourself.” 

“ Nothing’s up.” 

“ Then why did you jump ? ” 

“ Timms, a hansom,” cried George. u I’ll 
be in court all day to-morrow, and keep you 
straight, sir.” 

“In Heaven’s name, do. That fellow 
Pounce is such a beggar for dates. Now 
get out.” 

Mrs. Witt was iving at Albert Mansions, 
the “ swell villa ” at Manchester having gone 


28 


MB. WITT ’8 WIDOW. 


to join Mr. Witt in limbo. She was at home, 
and, as George entered, his only prayer was 
that he might not find Gerald in possession. 
He had no very clear idea how to proceed in 
his unpleasant task. “ It must depend on 
how she takes it,” he said. Gerald was not 
there, but Tommy Myles was, voluble, cheer- 
ful, and very much at home, telling Neaera 
stories of her lover’s school-days. George 
chimed in as he best could, until Tommy rose 
to go, regretting the convention that drove 
one man to take his hat five minutes, at the 
latest, after another came in. Neaera pressed 
him to come again, but did not invite him to 
transgress the convention. 

George almost hoped she would, for he 
was, as he confessed to himself, “ funking 
it.” There were no signs of any such feeling 
in Neaera, and no repetition of the appealing 
attitude she had seemed to take up the night 
before. 

“ She means to bluff me,” thought George, 
as he watched her sit down in a low chair by 
the fire, and shade her face with a large 
fan. 

“ It is,” she began, “ so delightful to be 
welcomed by all Gerald’s family and friends 


“WE AT ABE QUAE TEB-&EBSI0N8 » " 29 

so heartily. I do not feel the least like a 
stranger.” 

“ I came last night, hoping to join in that 
welcome,” said George. 

“ Oh, I did not feel that you were a stranger 
at all. Gerald had told me so much about 
you.” 

George rose, and walked to the end of the 
little room and back. Then he stood looking 
down at his hostess. Neaera gazed pensively 
into the fire. It was uncommonly difficult, 
but what was the good of fencing ? 

“ I saw you recognised me,” he said, delibe- 
rately. 

“In a minute. I had seen your photo- 
graph.” 

“Not only my photograph, but myself, 
Mrs. Witt” 

“ Have I ? ” asked Neaera. “ How rude of 
me to forget ! Where was it ? Brighton ? ” 

George’s heart hardened a little. Of course 
she would lie, poor girl. He didn’t mind 
that. But he did not like artistic lying, and 
Neaera’s struck him as artistic. 

“ But are you sure ? ” she went on. 

George decided to try a sudden attack. 
“Did they ever give you that guinea?” 


30 


MB, WITT'S WIDOW. 


he said, straining his eyes to watch her face. 
Did she flush or not ? He really couldn’t say. 
u I beg your pardon. Guinea ? ” 

“ Come, Mrs. Witt, we needn’t make it 
more unpleasant than necessary. I saw you 
recognised me. The moment Mr. Blodwell 
spoke of Peckton I recognised you. Pray 
don’t think I mean to he hard on you. I can 
and do make every allowance.” 

Neaera’s face expressed blank astonishment. 
She rose, and made a step towards the 
bell. George was tickled. She had the 
amazing impertinence to convey, subtly but 
quite distinctly, by that motion and her 
whole bearing, that she thought he was 
drunk. 

“ Ring, if you like,” he said, “ or, rather, 
ask me, if you want the bell rung. But 
wouldn’t it be better to settle the matter 
now ? I don’t want to trouble Gerald.” 

“ I really believe you are threatening me 
with something ! ” exclaimed Neaera. “ Yes, 
by all means. Go on.” 

She motioned him' to a chair, and stood 
above him, leaning one arm on the mantel- 
piece. She breathed a little quickly, but 
George drew no inference from that. 


"WHAT ARE QUARTER- BEBBIONBt" 81 

** Eight years ago,” he said, slowly, “ yon 
employed me as your counsel. You were 
charged with theft — stealing a pair of shoes 
— at Peckton Quarter-Sessions. You retained 
me at a fee of one guinea.” 

Neaera was motionless, but a slight smile 
showed itself on her face. “ What are Quarter- 
Sessions ? ” she asked. 

“You pleaded guilty to the charge, and 
were sentenced to a month’s imprisonment 
with hard labour. The guinea I asked you 
about was my fee. I gave it to that fat police- 
man to give back to you.” 

“ Excuse me, Mr. Neston,but it’s really too 
absurd.” And Neaera relaxed her statuesque 
attitude, and laughed light-heartedly, deli- 
ciously. “ No wonder you were startled last 
night — oh, yes, I saw that — if you identified 
your cousin’s fixmcie with this criminal you’re 
talking about.” 

“ I did and do identify her.” 

“ Seriously ? ” 

“ Perfectly. It would be a poor joke.” 

“ I never heard anything so monstrous. 
Do you really persist in it? I don’t know 
what to say.” 

“ Do you deny it ? ” 


32 


MR. WITT'S WIDOW. 


“ Deny it ! I might as well deny — but of 
course I deny it. It’s madness.” 

“ Then I must lay what I know before my 
uncle and G-erald, and leave them to act as 
they think best.” 

Neaera took a step forward as George rose 
from his seat. “ Do you mean to repeat 
this atrocious — this insane scandal ? ” 

“ I think I must. I should be glad to 
think I had any alternative.” 

Neaera raised one white hand above her 
head, and brought it down through the air 
with a passionate gesture. 

“ I warn you not ! ” she cried ; “ I warn 
you not ! ” 

George bowed. 

“ It is a lie, and — and if it were true, you 
could not prove it.” 

George thought this her first false step. 
But there were no witnesses. 

“ It will be war between us,” she went on 
in growing excitement. “ I will stand at 
nothing — nothing — to crush you ; and I will 
do it ” 

“You must not try to frighten me,” said 
George. 

Neaera surveyed him from head to foot 


WHAT ARE QUARTER‘SE88I0N8 1 ” S3 


Then she stretched out her white hand again, 
and said, 

“Go!” 

George shrugged his shoulders, took his 
hat, and went, feeling very much as if Neaera 
had detected him in theft. So great is the 
virtue of a good presence and dramatic 
instincts. 

Suddenly he paused; then he went back 
again, and knocked at the door. 

“ Come in,” cried Neaera. 

As he entered she made an impatient 
movement. She was still standing where he 
had left her. 

“Pray pardon me. I forgot to say one 
thing. Of course I am only interested in 
this — matter, as one of the family. I am 
not a detective. If you give up Gerald, my 
mouth is sealed.” 

“ I will not give up Gerald,” she exclaimed 
passionately. “I love him. I am not an 
adventuress ; I am rich already. I ” 

“ Yes, you could look higher than Gerald, 
and avoid all this.” 

“ I don’t care. I love him.” 

George believed her. “I wish to God I 
aould spare you ” 

D 


34 


MB. WITT'S WIDOW. 


“Spare me? I don’t ask your mercy 
You are a slanderer ” 

“ I thought I would tell you,” said George, 
calmly. 

“ Will you not go ? ” she cried. And her 
voice broke into a sob. 

This was worse than her tragedy airs. 
George fled without another word, cursing 
himself for a hard-hearted, self-righteous prig, 
and then cursing fate that laid this burden 
on him. What was she doing now, he won- 
dered. Exulting in her triumph ? He hoped 
so; for a different picture obstinately filled 
his mind — a beautiful woman, her face buried 
in her white arms, crying the brightness out 
of her eyes, all because George Neston had 
a sense of duty. Still he did not seriously 
waver in his determination. If Neaera had 
admitted the whole affair and besought his 
mercy, he felt that his resolution would have 
been sorely tried. But, as it was, he carried 
away the impression that he had to deal with 
a practised hand, and perhaps a little pro- 
fessional zeal mingled with his honest feeling 
that a woman who would lie like that was a 
woman who ought to be shown in her true 
colours. 


“WHAT ABE Q VAR TEB- SESSIONS t m 85 

“ I’ll tell uncle Roger and Gerald to- 
morrow,” he thought. “ Of course they will 
ask for proof. That means a journey to 
Peckton. Confound other people’s affairs ! ” 

George’s surmise was right. Neaera Witt 
had spent the first half-hour after his depar- 
ture in a manner fully as heart-rending as he 
had imagined. Everything was going so 
well. Gerald was so charming, and life 
looked, at last, so bright, and now came this ! 
But Gerald was to dine with her, and there 
was not much time to waste in crying. She 
dried her eyes, and doctored them back into 
their lustre, and made a wonderful toilette. 
Then she entertained Gerald, and filled him 
with delight all a long evening. And at 
eleven o’clock, just as she was driving him 
out of his paradise, she said, 

“Your cousin George was here to-day.” 

“ Ah, was he ? How did you get on 
with him ? ” 

Neaera had brought her lover his hat. 
He needed a strong hint to move him. But 
she put the hat down, and knelt beside Gerald 
for a minute or two in silence. 

“ You look sad, darling,” said he. u Did 
you and George quarrel ? ” 


36 


MB. WITT'S WIDOW. 


“ Yes — I It’s very dreadful.” 

“ Why, what, my sweet ? ” 

“ No, I won’t tell you now. He shan’t say 
I got hold of you first, and prepossessed 
your mind.” 

“ What in the world is wrong, Neaera?” 

“You will hear, Gerald, soon. But you 
shall hear it from him. I will not — no, I 
will not be the first. But, Gerald dear, you 
will not believe anything against me ? ” 

“ Does George say anything against 
you ? ” 

Neaera threw her arms round his neck. 
“ Yes,” she whispered. 

“ Then let him take care what it is. 
Neaera, tell me.” 

“ No, no, no ! He shall tell you first.” 

She was firm ; and Gerald went away, a 
very mass of amazement and wrath. 

But Neaera said to herself, when she was 
alone, “ I think that was right. But, oh 
dear, oh dear ! what a fuss about ” — she 
paused, and added — “ nothing ! ” 

And even if it were not quite nothing, 
if it were even as much as a pair of 
shoes, the effect did threaten to be greatly 
out of proportion to the cause. Old Daw* 


WE AT ASM QUAE TER-SESSlitJffS t * SI 


kins, and the fussy clerk, and the fat police- 
man could never have thought of such 
coil as this, or surely, in defiance of all + ne 
laws of the land, they would have let kat 
nameless damsel go. 


38 


MB. WITT'B WIDOW. 


CHAPTER IT. 

A SERPENT IN EDEN. 

On mature reflection, Gerald Neston declined 
to be angry. At first, when he had heard 
George’s tale, he had been moved to wrath, 
and had said bitter things about reckless 
talking, and even about malicious back- 
biting. But really, when you came to look 
at it, the thing was too absurd — not worth a 
moment’s consideration — except that it had, 
of course, annoyed Neaera, and must, of 
course, leave some unpleasantness behind it. 
Poor old George ! he had hunted up a 
mare’s nest this time, and no mistake. No 
doubt he couldn’t marry a thief; but who in 
his sober senses would attach any importance 
to this tale ? George had done what he was 
pleased to think his dutv. Let it rest. When 


A SERPENT IN EDEN. 


89 


he saw his folly, Neaera would forgive him, 
like the sweet girl she was. In fact, Gerald 
pooh-poohed the whole thing, and not the 
less because he had, not unnaturally, expected 
an accusation of quite another character, 
more unforgivable because not so out- 
rageously improbable and wild. 

Lord Tottlebury could not consent to treat 
what he described as “ the incident ” in quite 
so cavalier a fashion. He did not spare his 
hearers the well-worn precedent of Caesar’s 
wife ; and although, after an interview with 
Neaera, he was convinced of her innocence, it 
was in his opinion highly desirable that 
George should disabuse his own mind of this 
strange notion by some investigation. 

“ The marriage, in any case, will not take 
place for three months. Go and convince 
yourself of your mistake, and then, my dear 
George, we will make your peace with the 
lady. I need not caution you to let the 
matter go no further.” 

To be treated as a well-intentioned but 
misguided person is the most exasperating 
thing in the world, and George had hard 
work to keep his temper under the treat- 
ment. But he recognised that he might well 


40 


MB. WITT' 8 WIDOW. 


have fared worse, and, in truth, he asked nc 
more than a suspension of the marriage pend- 
ing inquiry — a concession that he understood 
Lord Tottlebury was prepared to make, 
though proof must, of course, be forthcoming 
in reasonable time. 

“I feel bound to look into it,” he said. 
“ As I have begun it, I will spare no pains. 
Nobody wishes more heartily than myself 
that I may have made an ass of myself.” 
And he really did come as near to this 
laudable state of mind as it is in human 
nature to come. 

Before the conference broke up, Lord 
Tottlebury suggested that there was one 
thing George could do at once — he could 
name the date of the trial at Peckton. George 
kept no diary, but he knew that the fateful 
expedition had been among his earliest pro- 
fessional journeys after his call to the Bar. 
Only very junior men went to Peckton, 
and, according to his recollection, the oc- 
currence took place in the April following 
his call. 

“April, eight years ago, was the time*” 
he said. “ I don’t pledge myself to a 

day.” 


A SERPENT IN EDEN. 


41 

“Yon pledge yourself to the month?" 
asked his uncle. 

Yes, to the month, and I dare say I shall 
be able to find the day.” 

“ And wben will you go to Peckton ? ” 

“ Saturday. I can’t possibly before.” 

The interview took place on the Tuesday 
evening, and on Wednesday Gerald went to 
lay the state of affairs before Neaera. 

Neaera was petulant, scornful, almost 
flippant. More than all this, she was 
mysterious. 

“ Mr - George Neston has his reasons,” she 
rnid. “ He will not withdraw his accusation. 
I know he will not.” 

“ My dearest, George is a first-rate fellow, 
as honourable as the day. If he finds—’ 

rather, when he finds ” 

All Neaera said was, “ Honourable ! ” But 
she put a great deal into that one word. 
“You dear, simple fellow! ” she went on, 
you have no suspicions of anybody. But 
let him take care how he persists.” 

More than this could not be got out of her, 
but she spoke freely about her own supposed 
misdoings, pouring a flood of ridicule and 
bitterness on Georges unhappy head. 


42 


MR. WITT'S WIDOW. 


“ A fool you call him ! ” she exclaimed, in 
reply to Gerald’s half-hearted defence. “I 
don’t know if he’s a fool, but I hope he is no 
worse.” 

“ Who’s getting it so precious warm, Mrs. 
Witt ? ” inquired Tommy Myles’s cheerful 
voice. “ The door was ajar, and your words 
forced themselves — you know.” 

“ How do you do, Mr. Myles ? ” 

‘‘As you’d invited me, and your servant 
wasn’t about, the porter-fellow told me to 
walk up.” 

“ I’m very glad you did. There’s nothing 
you can’t hear.” 

“ Oh, I say, Neaera 1 ” Gerald hastily 
exclaimed. 

“ Why shouldn’t he hear ? ” demanded 
Neaera, turning on him in superb indigna- 
tion. “Are you afraid that he’ll believe 
it? ’ 

“ No ; but we all thought ” 

“ I meant Mr. George Neston,” said Neaera. 

“ George ! ” exclaimed Tommy. 

“ And I’ll tell you why.” And, in spite 
of Gerald’s protest, she poured her tale of 
wrong into Tommy’s sympathetic and wide- 
opened ears. 


A SERPENT IN EDEN . 


43 


“There! Don’t tell any one else. Lord 
Tottlebury says we mustn’t. I don’t mind* 
for myself, who knows it.” 

Tommy was overwhelmed. His mind re- 
fused to act. “ He’s a lunatic ! ” he declared. 
“ I don’t believe it’s safe to live with him. 
He’ll cut my throat, or something. ' 

“Oh no; his lunacy is under control — a 
well-trained, obedient lunacy,” said Neaera, 
relapsing into mystery. 

“We all hope,” said G-erald, “ he’ll soon 
find out his mistake, and nothing need come 
of it. Keep your mouth shut, my boy.” 

“ All right. I’m silent as the cold tomb. 
But I’m da ” 

“Have some more tea?” said Neaera, 
smiling very graciously. Should she not 
reward so warm a champion ? 

When the two young men took their leave 
and walked away together, Tommy vied 
even with Gerald in the loudness of his in- 
dignation. 

“ A lie ! Of course it is, though I don’t 
mean that old George don’t believe it — the 
old ass 1 Why, the mere fact of her insist- 
ing on telling me about it is enough. She 
wouldn’t do that if it’s true.” 


44 


MB WITT' 8 WILOW. 


“ Of course not,” assented Gerald. 

“ She’d be all for hushing it up.” 

Gerald agreed again. 

“It’s purely for George’s sake we are §e 
keen to keep it quiet,” he added. “ Though, 
of course, Neaera even wouldn’t want it all 
over the town.” 

“I suppose I’d better tell George I know?” 

“Oh yes. You’ll be bound to show it 
in your manner.” 

George showed no astonishment at hearing 
that Neaera had made a confidant of Tommy 
Myles. It was quite consistent with the 
part she was playing,, as he conceived it. 
Nor did he resent Tommy’s outspoken 
rebukes. 

“Don’t mix yourself up in unpleasant 
things when you aren’t obliged, my son,” was 
all he said in reply to these tirades. “ Dine 
at home ? ” 

“ No,” snorted Tommy, in high dudgeon. 

“You won’t break bread with the likes 
of me ? ” 

“I’m going to the play, and to suppef 
afterwards.” 

“ With whom ? ” 

“ Eunice Beauchamp.” 


A BEBPENT IN EDEN. 


IB 


“Dear me, what a pretty name ! ” said 
George. “ Short for ‘ Betsy Jones,' I 
suppose ? ” 

“Go to the devil,” said Tommy. “You 
ain’t going to accuse her of prigging, are 
you?” 

“She kidnaps little boys,” said George, 
who felt himself entitled to some revenge, 
“and keeps them till they’re nearly grown 
up.” 

“I don’t believe you ever saw her in 
your life.” 

“ Oh yes, I did — first piece I ever went 
to, twenty years ago.” 

And so, what with Eunice Beauchamp, 
alias Betsy Jones, and Neaera Witt, alias — 
what? — two friends parted for that evening 
with some want of cordiality. 

“ She plays a bold game,” thought George, 
as he ate his solitary chop ; “ but too bold. 
You overdo it, Mrs. Witt. An innocent girl 
would not tell that sort of thing to a stranger, 
however false it was.” 

Which reflection only showed that things 
strike different minds differently. 

George needed comfort. The Serpent-in- 
Eden feeling was strong upon him. He 


MB. WITT'8 WIDOW 


46 

wanted somebody who would not only 
recognise his integrity but also admire his 
discretion. He had a card for Mrs. Pockling- 
ton’s at-home, and Isabel was to be there. 
He would go and have a talk with her; 
perhaps he would tell her all about it, for 
surely Neaera’s confidence to Tommy Myles 
absolved him from the strict letter of his 
pledge of secrecy. Isabel was a sensible 
girl ; she would understand his position, and 
not look on him as a cross between an idiot 
and a burglar because he had done what 
was obviously right. So George went to 
Mrs. Pocklington’s with all the rest of the 
world; for everybody went there. Mrs. 
Pocklington — Eleanor Fitzderham, who 
married Pocklington, the great shipowner, 
member for Dockborough — had done more 
to unite the classes and the masses than 
hundreds of philanthropic societies, and, it 
may be added, in a pleasanter manner ; and 
if, at her parties, the bigwigs did not always 
talk to the lit tie wigs, yet the littlewigs were 
in the same room with the bigwigs, which is 
something even at the moment, and really 
very nearly as good for purposes of future 
reference. 


A SERPENT IN EDEN. 


47 


George made his way across the crowded 
rooms, recognising many acquaintances as 
he went. There was Mr. Blodwell talking 
to the last new beauty — he had a wonderful 
knack of it, — and Sidmouth Yane talking to 
the last new heiress, who would refuse him 
in a month or two. An atheistic philosopher 
was discussing the stagnation of the stock- 
markets with a high-church Bishop — Mrs. 
Pocklington always aimed at starting people 
on their points of common interest : and Lady 
Wheedleton, of the Primrose League, was 
listening to Professor Dressingham’s descrip- 
tion of the newest recipe for manure, with 
an impression that the subject was not quite 
decent, but might be useful at elections. 
General Sir Thomas Swears was asking if 
anybody had seen the Secretary for War — he 
had a word to say to him about the last 
rifle ; but nobody had. The Countess Hilda 
yon Someveretheim was explaining the 
problem of “ Darkest England ” to the 
Minister of the Republic of Compostella; 
Judge Cutter, the American mystic, was 
asking the captain of the Oxford Boat Club 
about the philosophy of Hegel, and Miss Zoe 
Ballance, the pretty actress, was discussing 


48 


MB, WITT 'B WIDOW. 


the relations of art and morality with Colonel 
Bel amour of the G-uards. 

George was inclined to resent the air of 
general enjoyment that pervaded the place: 
it seemed a little unfeeling. But he was 
comforted by catching sight of Isabel. She 
was talking to a slight young man who wore 
an eye-glass and indulged in an expression 
of countenance which invited the conclusion 
that he was overworked and overstrained. 
Indeed, he was just explaining to Miss Bourne 
that it was not so much long hours as what 
he graphically described as the “ tug on his 
nerves ” that wore him out. Isabel had never 
suffered from this particular torture, but she 
was very sympathetic, said that she had 
often heard the same from other literary 
men (which was true), and promised to go 
down to supper with Mr. Espion later in 
the evening. Mr. Espion went about his 
business (for, the fact is, he was “ doing ” the 
party for the Bull's-eye), and the coast 
was left clear for George, who came up 
with a deliberately lugubrious air. Of course 
Isabel asked him what was the matter ; and, 
somehow or other, it happened that in less 
than ten minutes she was in possession of 


A BEBPENT IN EDEN. 


49 


all the material facts, if they were facts, 
concerning Neaera Witt and the pair of 
shoes. 

The effect was distinctly disappointing. 
Amiability degenerates into simplicity when 
it leads to the refusal to accept obvious facts 
merely because they impugn the character of 
an acquaintance; and what is the use of 
feminine devotion if it boggles over accept- 
ing what you say, just because you say some- 
thing a little surprising ? George was much 
annoyed. 

“ I am not mistaken,” he said. “ I did not 
speak hastily.” 

“ Of course not,” said Isabel. “ But — 
but you have no actual proof, have you, 
George?” 

“ Not yet ; but I soon shall have.” 

** Well, unless you get it very soon 

« Yes?” 

“ I think you ought to withdraw what you 
have said, and apologise to Mrs. Witt.” 

“ In fact, you think I was wrong to speak 

at all ? ” 

“ I think I should have waited till I had 
proof ; and then, perhaps ” 

s ‘ Everybody seems to tajnk me an ass,” 


50 


MU. WITT 8 WIDOW. 


“ Not that, George ; but a little — well— < 
reckless.” 

“ I shan’t withdraw it.” 

“ Not if you get no proof?” 

George shirked this pointed question, and, 
as the interview was really less soothing than 
he had expected, took an early opportunity 
of escaping. 

Mr. Espion came back, and asked why 
Neston had gone away looking so sulky. 
Isabel smiled and said Mr. Neston was vexed 
with her. Could anybody be vexed with 
Miss Bourne ? asked Mr. Espion, and added, 

“But Neston is rather crotchety, isn’t 
he?” 

“ Why do you say that ? ” asked Isabel. 

“Oh, I don’t know. Well, the fact is, 
I was talking to Tommy Myles at the 
Cancan ” 

“ Where, Mr. Espion ? ” 

“At the theatre, and he told me Neston 
had got some maggot in his head ” 

“ I don’t think he ought to say 
that.” 

But need we listen longer? And whose 
fault was it — Neaera’s, or George’s, or 
Isabel’s, or Tommy’s, or Mr. Espion’s ? That 


A BERPENT IN EDEK H 

became tbe question afterwards, when Lord 
Tottlebury was face to face with the violated 
compact, — and with next day’s issue of the 
Bull's-eye, 


mm. wirra wmom 


62 


CHAPTER Y. 

THE FIRST PARAGRAPH — AND OTHERS. 

Under pressure of circumstances men very 
often do what they have declared they cannot 
possibly do; it happens with private indi- 
viduals no less than with political parties. 
George declared he could not possibly go to 
Peckton before Saturday; but he was so 
disgusted with his position, that he threw all 
other engagements to the winds, and started 
early on Thursday morning, determined not 
to face his friends again without attempting 
to prove his words. Old Dawkins was dead, 
but the clerk was, and the policeman might 
be, alive; and, on his return to town, he 
could see Jennings, the clerk’s son, who had 
settled down to conveyancing in Lincoln’s 
Inn, and try to refresh his memory with 
materials gathered on the spot. For George 


THE FIRST IAEA GRAPH— AND OTHERS. 63 

had already seen Mr. Jennings, and Mr. 
Jennings remembered nothing about it — it 
was not his first brief, — but was willing to 
try to recall the matter if George would get 
him the details and let him see a picture of 
the person wanted — a request George did not 
wish to comply with at the moment. 

So he went to Peckton, and found out 
perhaps as much as he could reasonably 
expect to find out, as shall in due course 
appear. And during his absence several 
things happened. In the first place, the 
BulVs-eye was published, containing what 
became known as the “ First Paragraph.” 
The “ First Paragraph” was headed “ Strange 
Charge against a Lady — Rumoured Pro- 
ceedings,” and indicated the Neston family, 
Neaera Witt, and George, in such a manner 
as to enable their friends to identify them. 
This paragraph was inserted with the object 
of giving Neaera, or George, or both of them, 
as the case might be, or anybody else who 
could be “ drawn,” an opportunity of contra- 
dicting it. The second event was that the 
Nestons’ friends did identify them, and pro- 
ceeded tc open the minds of everybody who 
did not. 


54 


MR. WITT'8 WIDOW. 


Then Mr. Blodwell read the BuWs-eye^ 
as his custom was, and thoughtfully ejacu- 
lated “ Peckton 1 ” and Lord Tottlebury, 
being at the club, was shown the BulVs-eye 
by a friend, who really could not do less, and 
went home distracted ; and Tommy Myles 
read it, and, conscience-stricken, fled to 
Brighton for three days’ fresh air ; and 
Isabel read it, and confessed to her mother, 
and was scolded, and cried ; and G-erald read 
it, and made up his mind to kick every- 
body concerned, except, of course, Neaera; 
and, finally, Neaera read it, and was rather 
frightened and rather excited, and girt on 
her armour for battle. 

Gerald, however, was conscious that the 
process he had in his mind, satisfying as it 
would be to his own feelings, would not 
prove in all respects a solution of the diffi- 
culty, and, with the self shness which a crisis 
in a man’s own affairs engenders, he made 
nc scruple about taking up a full hour of Mr. 
Blodwell’s time, and expounding his views 
at great length, under the guise of taking 
counsel. Mr. Blodwell listened to his nar- 
rative of facts with interest, but cut short his 
stream of indignant comment. 


THE FIBST PARAGRAPH— AND OTHERS. 65 


“The mischief is that it’s got into the 
papers,” he said. “ But for that, I don’t see 
that it matters much.” 

“ Not matter much ? ” gasped Gerald. 

“ I suppose you don’t care whether it’s true 
or not ? ” 

“ It’s life or death to me,” answered Gerald. 

“ Bosh ! She won’t steal any more shoes 
now she’s a rich woman.” 

“You speak, sir, as if you thought ” 

“ Haven’t any opinion on the subject, and 
it wouldn’t be of any importance if I had. 
The question is shortly this : Supposing it to 
be true, would you marry her ? ” 

Gerald flung himself into a chair, and bit 
his finger nail. 

“ Eight years is a long while ago ; and 
poverty’s a hard thing; and she’s a pretty 
girl.” 

“ It’s an absurd hypothesis,” said Gerald. 

But a thief’s a thief.” 

“ True. So are a good many other people.” 

“ I should have to consider my father and 
• — and the family.” 

“Should you? I should see the family 
damned. However, it comes to this — if it 
were .rue, you wouldn’t marry her.” 


MB. WITT'B WIDOW. 


66 


“How oould I?” groaned Gerald, “We 
should be cut.” 

Mr. Blodwell smiled. 

“ Well, my ardent lover,” he said, “ that 
being so, you’d better do nothing till you see 
whether it’s true.” 

“ Not at all. I only took the hypothesis ; 
but I haven’t the least doubt that it’s a 
lie.” 

“ A mistake — yes. But it’s in the BulVs - 
eye, and a mistake in the newspapers needs 
to be reckoned with.” 

“ What shall I do ? ” 

“Wait till George comes back. Meanwhile, 
hold your tongue.” 

“ I shall contradict that lie.” 

“ Much better not. Don’t write to them, 
or see them, or let anybody else till George 
comes back. And, Gerald, if I were you, I 
shouldn’t quarrel with George.” 

“ He shall withdraw it, or prove it.” 

Mr. Blodwell shrugged his shoulders and 
became ostentatiously busy with the case of 
Pigg v. the Local Board of Slushton-under- 
Mudd. “A very queer point this,” he re- 
marked. “ The drainage system of Slushton 
is ” And he stopped with a chuckle at 


TEE FIRST PARAGRAPH — AND OTHERS. 57 

the sight of Gerald’s vanishing back. He 
called after him — 

“ Are you going to M*s. Witt’s this after- 
noon ? ” 

“ No,” answered Gerald. “ This evening.” 

Mr. Blodwell sat at work for ten minutes 
more. Then he rang the bell. 

“ Mr. Neston gone, Timms ? ” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ Then get a four-wheeler.” And he 
added to himself, “ I should like to see her 
again, under this new light. I wonder if 
she’ll let me in.” 

Neaera did let him in. In fact, she seemed 
VfcS-y glad to see him, and accepted with 
meekness her share of his general censure 
on the “ babbling ” that had gone on. 

“ You see,” she said, handing him a cup 
of tea, “ it scarcely seemed a serious matter 
to me. I was angry, of course, but almost 
more amused than angry.” 

“Naturally,” answered Mr. Blodwell. 
“But, my dear young lady, everything which 
is public is serious. And this thing is now 
public, for no doubt to-morrow’s BalVs-eye 
will give all your names and addresses.” 

“ I don’t care,” said Neaera* 


58 


MB. WITT’S WIDOW. 


Mr. Blodwell shook his head. 44 Yon must 
consider Gerald and his people.” 

“ Gerald doesn’t doubt me. If he did " 

Neaera left her recreant lover’s fate to the 
imagination. 

“ But Lord Tottlebury and the world at 
large? The world at large always doubts 
one.” 

“ I suppose so,” said Neaera, sadly. “ For- 
tunately, I have conclusive proof.” 

“ My dear Mrs. Witt, why didn’t you say 
so before ? ” 

“ Before there was anything to meet ? Is 
that your way, Mr. Blodwell ? ” 

“ George may bring back something to 
meet.” 

Neaera rose and went to her writing-table. 
“I don’t know why I shouldn’t show it to 
you,” she said. “ I was just going to send 
it to Lord Tottlebury. It will he a pleasant 
surprise for Mr. George Neston when he 
comes back from Peckton with his proofs ! ” 
She handed Mr. Blodwell a sheet of note* 
paper. 

He took it, throwing one quick glance at 
Neaera. “ You wish me to read this ? ” 

“It’s letting you into the secrets of my 


THE FIRST PARAGRAPH— AND OTHERS. 59 

early days,” she said. “ You see, I wasn’t 
always as well off as I am now.” 

Mr. Blodwell adjusted his eye-glass and 
perused the document, which set forth that 
Miss N. Gale entered the service of Mrs. 
Philip Horne, of Balmoral Yilla, Bourne- 
mouth, as companion to that lady, in March, 
1883, and remained in such service until the 
month of July, 1883 ; that, during the whole 
of such period, she conducted herself with 
propriety; that she read aloud with skill, 
ordered a household with discretion, and 
humoured a fussy old lady with tact (this is 
a paraphrase of the words of the writer); 
finally, that she left, by her own desire, to 
the regret of the above-mentioned Susan 
Horne. 

Neaera watched Mr. Blodwell as he read. 

“ Eighteen eighty-three ? ” said he ; “ that’s 
the year in question ? ” 

“ Yes, and April is the month in question 
— the month I am supposed to have spent in 
prison ! ” 

“ You didn’t show this to George ? ” 

“ No. Why should I ? Besides, I didn’t 
know then when he dated my crime.” 

Mr. Blodwell thought it a little queer that 


6© 


MB. WITT'B WIDOW. 


she had not asked him. “ He should certainly 
see it at once. Have you seen anything of 
Mrs. Horne lately ? ” 

“ Oh no ; I should be afraid she must be 
dead. She was an old lady, and very feeble.” 

“It is — it may be — very lucky — your 
having this.” 

“Yes, isn’t it? I should never have re- 
membered the exact time I went to Mrs. 
Home’s.” 

Mr. Blodwell took his departure in a state 
of mind that he felt was unreasonable. Neaera 
had been, he told himself, most frank, most 
charming, most satisfactory. Yet he was 
possessed with an overpowering desire to 
cross-examine Neaera. 

“ Perhaps it’s only habit,” he said to him- 
self. “ A protestation of innocence raises all 
my fighting instincts.” 

The next day witnessed the publication 
of the “ Second Paragraph,” and the second 
paragraph made it plain to everybody that 
somebody must vindicate his or her character. 
The public did net care who did it, but it felt 
itself entitled to an action, wherein the whole 
matter should be threshed out fe r the further- 
ance of public justice and entertain menu 


THE FIRST PARAGRAPH— AND OTHERS. 61 

The Bull's-eye itself took this view. It im- 
plored Neaera, or G-eorge, or somebody to 
sue it, if they would not sue one another. It 
had given names, addresses, dates, and details 
Could the most exacting plaintiff ask more ? 
If no action were brought, it was clear that 
Neaera had stolen the shoes, and that George 
had slandered her, and that the Nestons in 
general shrank from investigation into the 
family history; all this was still clearer, if 
they pursued their extraordinary conduct in 
not forwarding personal narratives for the 
information of the public and the accommo- 
dation of the Bull's-eye. 

Into this turmoil George was plunged on 
his return from Peckton. He had been 
detained there two days, and did not reach 
his rooms till late on Friday evening. He 
was greeted by two numbers of the Bull’s- 
eye, neatly displayed on his table; by a fiery 
epistle from Gerald, demanding blood or 
apologies; by two penitential dirges from 
Isabel Bourne and Tommy Myles ; and, lastly, 
by a frigid note from Lord Tottlebury, en- 
closing the testimony of Mrs. Philip Horne 
to the character and accomplishments of Miss 
N. Gale. In Lord Tottlebury ’s opinion, only 


62 


MB. WITT'S WIDOW. 


one course was, under the circumstances, 
open to a gentleman. 

Philanthropists often remark, h propoe of 
other philanthropists, that it is easier to do 
harm than good, even when you are, as it 
were, an expert in doing good. George 
began to think that his amateur effort at 
preserving the family reputation and punish- 
ing a wrongdoer looked like vindicating 
the truth of this general principle. Here 
was a hornets’-nest about his ears I And 
would what he brought back with him make 
the buzzing less furious or the stings less 
active ? He thought not. 

“ Can a girl be in two places at once,” he 
asked, — “in one of her Majesty’s prisons, 
and also at — where is it? — Balmoral Villa, 
Bournemouth ? ” And he laid side by side 
Mrs. Horne’s letter and a certain photograph 
which was among the spoils of his expedition. 

George had not the least doubt that it was 
a photograph of Neaera Witt, for all that 
it was distinctly inscribed, “Nelly Game.” 
Beyond all question it was a photograph of 
the girl who stole the shoes, thoughtfully 
taken and preserved with a view to protect- 
ing society against future depredations at her 


TEE FIBST PARAGRAPH— AND OTHERS. 63 

hands. It was Crown property, George sup- 
posed, and probably he had no business with 
it, but a man can get many things he has no 
business with for half a sovereign, the sum 
George had paid for the loan of it. It must 
be carefully remembered that Peckton is 
exceptional, not typical, in the laxity of its 
administration, and a long reign of solitary 
despotism had sapped the morality of the fat 
policeman. 

The art of photography has made much 
progiess in recent years. It is less an engine 
for the reduction of self-conceit than it used 
to be, and less a means of revealing how 
ill-looking a given person can appear under 
favourable circumstances. But Peckton was 
behind the time, here as everywhere. Nelly 
Game’s portrait did faint justice to Neaera 
Witt, and eight years’ wear had left it 
blurred and faded almost to the point of 
indistinctness. It was all very well for 
George to recognise it. In candour he was 
bound to admit that he doubted if it would 
convince the unwilling. Besides, a great 
change comes between seventeen and five- 
and-twenty, even when Seventeen is not half- 
etarved and clad in rags, Five-and -twenty 


u 


MB. WITT'S WIDOW. 


living in luxury, and decked in the glories 
of millinery. 

“ It won’t do alone,” he said, “ hut it will 
help. Let’s have a look at this — document.” 
When he had read it he whistled gently. 
“ Oh, ho ! an alibi. Now I’ve got her ! ” he 
exclaimed. 

But had he? He carefully re-read the 
letter. It was a plausible enough letter, and 
conclusive, unless he was prepared to charge 
Mrs. Witt with deeper schemes and more 
dangerous accomplishments than he had yet 
thought of doing. 

Men are mistaken sometimes, said a voice 
within him ; but he would not listen. 

“I’ll look at that again to-morrow,” he 
said, “ and find out who ‘ Susan Horne ’ is.” 

Then he read his letters, and cursed his 
luck, and went to bed a miserable man. 

The presentment of truth, not the inculca- 
tion of morality, being the end of art, it is 
worth while to remark that he went to bed 
a miserable man simply and solely because 
he had tried to do his duty. 


C 65 ) 


CHAPTER YI. 

A SUCCESSFUL ORDEAL. 

The general opinion was that Gerald Neston 
behaved foolishly in allowing himself to be 
interviewed by the BulVs-eye. Indeed, it 
is rather odd, when we consider the almost 
universal disapproval of the practice of inter- 
viewing, to see how frequent interviews are. 
Damnantur et crescunt ; and mankind agrees 
I/' excuse its own weakness by postulating 
irresistible ingenuity and audacity in the 
interviewer. So Gerald was publicly blamed 
and privately blessed for telling the BulVs- 
eye that an atrocious accusation had been 
brought against the lady referred to, and 
brought by one who should have been the 
last to bring it, and would, he hoped, be the 
first to withdraw it. The accusation did 

v 


66 


MB. WIVT'B WIDOW. 


seriously concern the lady’s character, and 
nothing but the fullest apology could be 
accepted. He preferred not to go into details 
at present ; indeed, he hoped it would never 
be necessary to do so. 

Such might be Gerald’s hope. It was not 
the hope of the Bull's-eye, nor, indeed, of 
society in general. What could be more 
ill-advised than to hint dreadful things and 
refuse full information ? Such a course 
simply left the imagination to wander, fancy 
free, through the Newgate Calendar, at- 
tributing to Mrs. Witt — the name of the 
slandered lady was by this time public 
property — all or any of the actions therein 
recorded. 

“ It’s like a blank bill,” said Charters, the 
commercial lawyer, to Mr. Blodwell; “you 
fill it up for as much as the stamp will 
cover.” 

“The more gossiping fool you,” replied 
Mr. Blodwell, very rudely, and quite un- 
justifiably, for the poor man merely meant 
to indicate a natural tendency, not to declare 
his own idea of what was proper. But Mr. 
Blodwell was cross; everybody had made 
fools of themselves, he thought, and he was 


A SUCCESSFUL ORDEAL. 67 

hanged at least hanged — if he saw his way 
out of it. 

George s name had not as yet been actually 
mentioned, but everybody knew who it was, 

that “ relative of Lord Tottlebury, whose 
legal experience, if nothing else, should have 
kept him from bringing ungrounded accusa- 
tions ; and George s position was far from 
pleasant. He began to see, or fancy he saw, 
men looking askance at him; his entrance 
was the occasion of a sudden pause in con- 
versation ; his relations with his family were, 
it need hardly be said, intolerable to the 
last degree ; and, finally, Isabel Bourne had 
openly gone over to the enemy, had made 
her mother invite Neaera Witt to dinner, 
and had passed George in the park with the 
merest mockery of a bow. He was anxious 
to bring matters to an issue one way or 
another, and with this end he wrote to Lord 
Tottlebury, asking him to arrange a meeting 
with Mrs. Witt. 

“ As you are aware," he said, “ I have been 
to Peckton. I have already told you what I 
found there, so far as it bore on the fact of 
* Nelly Game’s ’ conviction. I now desire to 
give certain persons who were acquainted 


68 


MS. WITT'S WIDOW. 


with ‘ Nelly Game ’ an opportunity of seeing 
Mrs. Witt. No doubt she will raise no 
objections. Blodwell is willing to put his 
chambers at our disposal; and I think this 
would be the best place, as it will avoid the 
gossip and curiosity of the servants. Will 
Mrs. Witt name a day and time ? I and my 
companions will make a point of suiting her 
convenience.” 

George’s “ companions ” were none other 
than the fussy clerk and the fat policeman. 
The female warder had vanished ; and 
although there were some prison officials 
whose office dated from before Nelly Game’s 
imprisonment, George felt that, unless his 
first two witnesses were favourable, it would 
be useless to press the matter, and did not 
at present enlist their services. Mr. Jennings, 
the Lincoln’s Inn barrister, had proved 
utterly hopeless. George showed him the 
photograph. “ I shouldn’t have recognized 
it from Eve’s,” said Mr. Jennings ; and 
George felt that he might, without duplicity, 
ignore such a useless witness. 

Neaera laughed a little at the proposal 
when it was submitted to her, but expressed 
her willingness to consent to it. Gerald was 


A SUCCESSFUL ORDEAL. 


69 


almost angry with her for not being angry 
at the indignity. 

“He goes too far* upon my word he 
does ; ” he muttered. 

“ What does it matter, dear ? ” asked 
Neaera. “ It will be rather fun.” 

Lord Tottlebury raised a hand in grave 
protest. 

“ My dear Neaera ! ” said he. 

“ Not much fun for George,” Gerald re- 
marked in grim triumph. 

“ I suppose Mr. Blodwell’s chambers will 
do ? ” asked Lord Tottlebury. “It seems 
convenient.” 

But here Neaera, rather to his surprise, 
had her own views. She wasn’t going down 
to musty chambers to be stared at — yes, 
Gerald, all lawyers stared, — and taken for 
a breach-of-promise person, and generally 
besmirched with legal mire. No : nor she 
wouldn’t have Mr. George Neston’s spies in 
her house ; nor would she put herself out the 
least about it. 

“ Then it must be in my house,” said Lord 
Tottlebury. 

Neaera acquiesced, merely adding that the 
valuables had better be locked up. 


70 


MR. WITT'S WIDOW. 


“And when? We had better say some 
afternoon, I suppose.” 

“I am engaged every afternoon for a 
fortnight.” 

“ My dear,” said Lord Tottlebury, “ busi- 
ness must take precedence.” 

Neaera did not see it ; but at last she made 
a suggestion. “I am dining with you en 
famille the day after to-morrow. Let them 
come then.” 

“ That’ll do,” said George. “ Ten minutes 
after dinner will settle the whole business.” 

Lord Tottlebury made no objection. George 
had suggested that a couple of other ladies 
phould be present, to make the trial fairer ; 
and it was decided to invite Isabel Bourne, 
and Miss Laura Pocklington, daughter of the 
great Mrs. Pocklington. Mrs. Pocklington 
would come with her daughter, and it was 
felt that her presence would add authority to 
the proceedings. Maud Nest on was away ; 
indeed, her absence had been thought de- 
sirable, pending the settlement of this un- 
pleasant affair. 

Lord Tottlebury always made the most of 
his chances of solemnity, and, if left to his 
own bent, would have invested the present 


A SUCCESSFUL ORDEAL, 


71 


occasion with an impressiveness not far short 
of a death sentence. But he was powerless in 
face of the determined frivolity with which 
Neaera treated the whole matter. Mrs. 
Pocklington found herself, apparently, invited 
to assist at a farce, instead of a melodrama, 
and with her famous tact at once recognised 
the situation ; her elaborate playfulness 
sanctioned the hair-brained chatter of the 
girls, and made Gerald’s fierce indignation 
seem disproportionate to the subject. Dinner 
passed in a whirl of jokes and gibes, George 
affording ample material ; and afterwards the 
ladies, flushed with past laughter, and con- 
stantly yielding to fresh hilarity at Neaera’s 
sallies, awaited the coming of George and 
his party with no diminution of gaiety. 

A knock was heard at the door. 

“Here are the minions of the law, Mrs. 
Witt ! ” cried Laura Pocklington. 

“Then I must prepare for the dungeon,” 
said Neaera, and rearranged her hair before 
a mirror. 

“It quite reminds me,” said Mrs. Pock- 
lington, “ of the dear Queen of Scots.” 

Lord Tottlebury was, in spite of his pre- 
occupations, beginning to argue about the 


MB. WITT'S WIDOW. 


71 

propriety of Mrs. Pocklington’s epiphet, 
when George was shown in. He looked 
weary, bored, disgusted. After shaking 
hands with Lord Tottlebury, he bowed 
generally to the room, and said, 

“I propose to bring Mr. Jennings, the 
clerk, in first; then the policeman. It will 
be better they should come separately.” 

Lord Tottlebury nodded. Gerald had 
ostentatiously turned his back on his cousin. 
Mrs. Pocklington fanned herself with an air 
of amused protest, which the girls repro- 
duced in a broader form. No one spoke, 
till Neaera herself said with a laugh, 

“ Arrange your effects as you please, Mr. 
Neston.” 

George looked at her. She was dressed 
wi + h extraordinary richness, considering the 
occasion. Her neck and arms, disclosed by 
her evening gown, glittered with diamonds ; 
a circlet of the same stones adorned her 
golden hair, which was arranged in a lofty 
erection on her head. She met his look 
with derisive defiance, smiling in response 
to the sarcastic smile on his face. George’s 
smile was called forth by the recognition of 
his opponent’s tactics. Her choice of time 


A SUCCESSFUL ORDEAL. ?S 

and place had enabled her to call k> her aid 
all the arts of millinery and the resources 
of wealth to dazzle and blind the eyes of 
those who sought to find, in her the shabby 
draggle-tailed girl of eight years before. 
Old Mr. Jennings had come under strong 
protest. He was, he said, half blind eight 
years ago, and more than half now; he 
had seen hundreds of interesting young 
criminals and could no more recognise one 
from another than to-day’s breakfast egg 
from yesterday week’s ; as for police photo- 
graphs, everybody knew they only darkened 
truth. Still he came, because George had 
constrained him. 

Neaera, Isabel, and Laura Pocklington 
took their places side by side, Neaera on 
the right, leaning her arm on the chimney- 
piece, in her favourite pose of languid 
haughtiness; Isabel was next her. Lord 
Tottlebury met Mr. Jennings with cold 
civility, and gave him a chair. The old 
man wiped his spectacles and put them on. 
A pause ensued. 

“ George,” sail- Lord Tottlebury, " I sup- 
pose you have explained ? ” 

“ Tea,” s&M Georg!'. “ Mr, Jennings, can 


74 


MB. WITT'S WIDOW. 


you say whether any, and which, of th« 
persons present is Nelly Game ? ” 

Gerald turned round to watch the trial. 

“ Is the person suspected — supposed to 
be Nelly Game — in the room?” asked 
Mr. Jennings, with some surprise. Ha 
had expected to see a group of maid- 
servants. 

“Certainly,” said Lord Tottlebury, with 
a grim smile. And Mrs. Pocklington 
chuckled. 

“Then I certainly can’t,” said Mr. Jen- 
nings. And there was an end of that, an 
end no other than what George had ex- 
pected. The fat policeman was his sheet- 
anchor. 

The fat policeman, or to give him his 
proper name, Sergeant Stubbs, unlike Mr. 
Jennings, was enjoying himself. A trip to 
London gratis , with expenses on a liberal 
scale, and an identification at the end — could 
the heart of mortal constable desire more? 
Know the girl ? Of course he would, among 
a thousand 1 It was his business to know 
people and he did not mean to fail, especially 
in the service of so considerate an employer. 
So he walked in confidently, sat himself 


A SUCCESSFUL OBDEAL. 


75 


down, and received liia instructions with 
professional imperturbability. 

The ladies stood and smiled at Stubbs. 
Stubbs sat and peered at the ladies, and, 
being a man at heart, thought they were 
a set of as likely girls as he’d ever seen ; so 
he told Mrs. Stubbs afterwards. But which 
was Nelly Game ? 

“ It isn’t her in the middle,” said Stubbs, 
at last. 

“ Then,” said George, “ we needn’t trouble 
Miss Bourne any longer.” 

Isabel went and sat down, with a scornful 
toss of her head, and Laura Pocklington and 
Neaera stood side by side. 

“I feel as if it were the judgment 
of Paris,” whispered the latter, audibly, 
and Mrs. Pocklington and Gerald tittered. 
Stubbs had once been to Paris on business, 
but he did not see what it had to do 
with the present occasion, unless indeed 
it were something about a previous con- 
viction. 

“ It isn’t her,” he said, after another 
pause, pointing a stumpy forefinger at Laura 
Pocklington. 

There was a little shiver of dismay. 


78 


MR. WITT'S WIDOW. 


George rigidly repressed every indication o! 
satisfaction. Neaera stood calm and smiling, 
bending a look of amused kindliness on 
Stubbs ; but the palm of the white hatd 
on the mantelpiece grew pink as the white 
fingers pressed against it. 

“ Would you like to see me a little 
nearer?” she asked, and, stepping forward 
to where Stubbs sat, she stood right in front 
of him. 

George felt inclined to cry “Brava!” as 
if he were at the play. 

Stubbs was puzzled. There was a likeness, 
but there was so much unlikeness too. It 
really wasn’t fair to dress people up dif- 
ferently. How was a man to know 
them ? 

“ Might I see the photograph again, sir ? ” 
he asked George. 

“ Certainly not,” exclaimed Gerald, angrily. 

George ignored him. 

“ I had rather,” he said, “ you told us 
what you think without it.” 

George had sent Lord Tottlebury the 
photograph, and everybody had looked at 
it and declared it was not the least like 
Neweta. 


x rvcnEssFUJj osdeal. 


77 


Stnboa resumed bis curvey. At last he 
sbU, pressing hia hand over his eyes, 

“ I can’t swear to her, sir.” 

“ Very well,” said George. “That’ll 

do” 

But Neaera laughed. 

“ Swear to me, Mr. Stubbs ! ” said she. 
“ But do you mean you think I’m like this 
Nelly Games ? ” 

“ * Game,’ not ‘ Games,’ Mrs. Witt,” said 
George, smiling again. 

“ Well, then, ‘ Game.’ ” 

“ Yes, miss, you’ve a look of her.” 

“Of course she has,” said Mrs. Fochling- 
ton, “or Mr. George would never have 
made the mistake.” Mrs. Pocklington likod 
George, and wanted to let him down 
easily. 

“That’s all you can say?” asked Lord 
Tottlebury. 

“ Yes, sir ; I mean, my lord.” 

“It comes to nothing,” said Lord Tottle- 
bury, decisively. 

“Nothing at all,” said George. “Thank 
you, Stubbs. I’ll join you and Mr. Jennings 
in a moment.” 

“ Good-bye, Mr. Stubbs,” said Neaera. 


78 


MR. WITT'S WIDOW. 


“I’m sure I should have known you if I’d 
ever seen you before.” 

Stubbs withdrew, believing himself to 
have received a compliment. 

“ Of course this ends the matter, George, 4 * 
said Lord Tottlebury. 

“ I should hope so,” said Gerald. 

George looked at Neaera ; and as he 
looked the conviction grew stronger on him 
that she was Nelly Game. 

“Mr. George Neston is not convinced,” 
said she, mockingly. 

“It does not much matter whether I am 
convinced or not,” said George. “ There is 
no kind of evidence to prove the identity.” 

Gerald sprang up in indignation. “ Do 
you mean that you won’t retract ? ” 

“ You can state all the facts ; I shall say 
nothing.” 

“ You shall apologise, or ” 

“ Gerald,” said Lord Tottlebury, “ this is 
no use.” 

There was a feeling that George was be- 
having very badly. Everybody thought so, 
and said so; and all except Neaera either 
exhorted or besought him to confess himself 
the victim of an absurd mistake. As the 


A SUCCESSFUL ORDEAL. 


79 


matter had become public, nothing less could 
be accepted. 

George wavered. “I will let you know 
to-morrow,” he said. “Meanwhile let me 
return this document to Mrs. Witt.” He 
took out Mrs. Horne’s letter and laid it on 
the table. “ I have ventured to take a 
copy,” he said. “As the original is valu- 
able, I thought I had better give it 
back.” 

“ Thank you,” said Neaera, and moved 
forward to take it. 

Gerald hastened to fetch it for her. As 
he took it up, his eye fell on the writing, 
for George had laid it open on the 
table. 

“ Why, Neaera,” said he, * it’s in your 
handwriting ! ” 

George started, and he thought he saw 
Neaera start just perceptibly. 

“Of course,” she said. “That’s only a 
a copy.” 

“My dear, you never told me so,” said 
Herd Tottlehury; ‘'and I have never seen 
your handwriting.” 

“ Gerald and Maud have.” 

“ But they never saw this.” 


80 


MB. WITT’S WIDOW. 


“ It was stupid of me,” Baid Neaera, peni« 
lently ; “ but I never thought of there 
being any mistake. What difference does it 

make ? ” 

George’s heart was hardened. He was 
sure she had, if not tried to pass oft' the copy 
as an original from the first, at any rate 
taken advantage of the error. 

“ Have you the original ? ” he asked. 

“ No,” said Neaera. 44 I sent it to some- 
body ever so long ago, and never got it 
back.” 

“ When did you make this copy ?” 

“ When I sent away the original.” 

“ To whom ? ” began George again. 

44 I won’t have it,” cried Gerald. 44 You 
shan’t cross-examine her with your infernal 
insinuations. Do you mean that she forged 
this ? ” 

George grew stubborn. 

“ I should like to see the original,” he 

said. 

“ Then you can’t,” retorted Gerald, 

angrily. 

George shrugged his shoulders, turned, 
and left the room. 

And they all comforted and cosseted 


A SUCCESSFUL ORDEAL. 


81 


Neaera, and abused (xeorge, and made up 
their minds to let the world know how badly 
he was behaving. 

“It’s our duty to society,” said Lord 
Tottlebury. 


82 


MB. WITT’S WIDOW. 


CHAPTER VII. 

AN IMPOSSIBLE BARGAIN. 

** I should eat humble-pie, George,” said 
Mr. Blodwell, tapping his eye-glasses against 
his front teeth. “She’s one too many for 
you.” 

“ Do you think I’m wrong ? ” 

“ On the whole, I incline to think you’re 
right. But I should eat humble-pie if I were 
you, all the same.” 

The suggested diet is palatable to nobody, 
*md the power of consuming it without 
contortion is rightly put high in the list 
of virtues, if virtue be proportionate to 
difficulty. To a man of George Neston’s 
temperament penance was hard, even when 
enforced by the consciousness of sin ; to 
bend the knees in abasement, when the 


AN IMPOSSIBLE BARGAIN 


83 


soul was erect in self-approval, came nigh 
impossibility. 

Still it was unquestionably necessary that 
he should assume the sheet and candle, or 
put up with an alternative hardly, if at all, 
less unpleasant. The “ Fourth Paragraph ” 
had appeared. It was called a paragraph for 
the sake of uniformity, but it was in reality 
a narrative, stretching to a couple of columns, 
and giving a detailed account of the attempted 
identification. For once, George implicitly 
believed the editor’s statement that his in- 
formation came to him on unimpeachable 
authority. The story was clearly not only 
inspired by, but actually written by the hand 
of Gerald himself, and it breathed a bitter 
hostility to himself that grieved George none 
the less because it was very natural. This 
hostility showed itself, here and there, in 
direct attack ; more constantly in irony and 
ingenious ridicule. George’s look, manner, 
tones, and walk were all pressed into the 
service. In a word, the article certainly 
made him look an idiot ; he rather thought 
it made him look a malignant idiot. 

“What can you d®?” demanded Mr. 
Blodwell again. “You can’t bring up any 


84 


MB. WITT'8 WIDOW. 


more people from Peckton. You chose youi 
witnesses, and they let you in.” 

George nodded. 

“ You went to Bournemouth, and you 
found — what? Not that Mrs. What’s-her- 
name — Horne — was a myth, as you expected, 
or conveniently — and, mind you, not un- 
plausibly — dead, as I expected, but an actual, 
existent, highly respectable, though some- 
what doting, old lady. She had you badly 
there, George my boy ! ” 

“Yes,” admitted George. “I wonder if 
she lniew the woman was alive ? ” 

“She chanced it; wished she might be 
dead, perhaps, but chanced it. That, George, 
is where Mrs. Witt is great.” 

“ Mrs. Horne doesn’t remember her being 
there in March, or indeed April.” 

“ Perhaps not ; but she doesn’t say the 
contrary.” 

“Oh, no. She said that if the character 
says March, of course it was March.” 

“ The ‘ of course ’ betrays a lay mind. But 
still the character does say March — for what 
it’s worth.” 

“ The copy of it does.” 

“I know what you mean. But think 


AN IMPOSSIBLE BARGAIN. 


85 


before you say that, George. It’s pretty 
strong ; and you haven’t a tittle of evidence 
to support you.” 

“I don’t want to say a word. I’ll let 
them alone, if they’ll let me alone. But 
that woman’s Nelly Game, as sure as 
I’m ” 

“An infernally obstinate chap,” put in 
Mr. Blodwell. 

Probably what George meant by being 
“ let alone,” was the cessation of paragraphs 
in the Bull's-eye. If so, his wish was 
not gratified. “ Will Mr. George Neston ” — 
George’s name was no longer “ withheld ” — 
“retract?” took, in the columns of that 
publication, much the position occupied by 
Delenda est Carthago in the speeches of Cato 
the Elder. It met the reader on the middle 
page ; it lurked for him in the leading 
article; it appeared, by way of playful 
reference, in the city intelligence ; one man 
declared he found it in an advertisement, but 
this no doubt was an oversight — or perhaps 
a lie. 

George was not more sensitive than other 
men, but the annoyance was extreme. The 
whole world seemed full of people reading 


86 


MR. WITT'S WIDOW. 


the Bull's-eye, some with grave reprobation, 
some with offensive chucklings. 

But if the Bull's-eye would not leave him 
alone, a large number of people did. He 
was not exactly cut ; but his invitations 
diminished, the greetings he received grew 
less cordial than of yore : he was not turned 
out of the houses he went to, but he was not 
much pressed to come again. He was made 
to feel that right-minded and reasonable 
people — a term everybody uses to describe 
themselves — were against him, and that, if he 
wished to re-enter the good graces of society, 
he must do so by the strait and narrow 
gate of penitence and apology. 

“ I shall have to do it,” he said to himself, 
as he sat moodily in his chambers. “ They’re 
all at me — uncle Roger, Tommy Myles, 
Isabel — all of them. I’m shot if I ever 
interfere with anybody’s marriage again.” 

The defection of Isabel rankled in his mind 
worst of all. That she, of all people, should 
turn against him, and, as a last insult, send 
him upbraiding messages through Tommy 
Myles ! This she had lone, and George was 
full of wrath. 

“ A. note for you, sir,” said Timms, enter* 


AS IMPOSSIBLE BARGAIN. 


87 


ing in his usual silent manner. Timms had 
no views on the controversy, being one of 
those rare people who mind their own busi- 
ness ; and George had fallen so low as to be 
almost grateful for the colourless impartiality 
with which he bore himself towards the 
quarrel between his masters. 

George took the note. “ Mr. Gerald been 
here, Timms ? ” 

“ He looked in for letters, sir ; but went 
away directly on hearing you were here.” 

Timms stated this fact as if it were in the 
ordinary way of friendly intercourse, and 
withdrew. 

“ Well, I am 1 ” exclaimed George, 

and paused. 

The note was addressed in the handwriting 
he now knew very well, the handwriting of 
the Bournemouth character. 

“Dear Mr. Neston, 

“ I shall be alone at five o’clock 
to-day. Will you come and see me ? 

“ Tours sincerely, 

“Neaera Witt.” 

“You must do as a lady asks you,” said 


88 


MR. WITT'S WIDOW. 


George, “ even if she does steal shoes, and 
you have mentioned it. Here goes ! What’s 
she up to now, I wonder ? ” 

Neaera, arrayed in the elaborate careless- 
ness of a tea-gown, received him, not in the 
drawing-room, but in her own snuggery. 
Tea was on the table; there was a bright 
little fire, and a somnolent old cat snoozed on 
the hearth-rug. The whole air was redolent 
of what advertisements called a “ refined 
home,” and Neaera’s manner indicated an 
almost pathetic desire to be friendly, checked 
only by the self-respecting fear of a rude 
rebuff to her advances. 

“It is really kind of you to come,” she 
said, “ to consent to a parley.” 

“ The beaten side always consents to 
a parley,” answered George, taking the 
seat she indicated. She was half sitting, 
half lying on a sofa when he came in, 
and resumed her position after greeting 
him. 

“ No, no,” she said quickly ; “ that’s where 
it’s hard — when you’re beaten. But do you 
consider yourself beaten ? ” 

“ Up to now, certainly.” 

“ And you really are not convinced ? ” she 


AS IMPOSSIBLE BARGAIN, 69 

asked, eyeing him with a look of candid 
appeal to his better nature. 

“ It is your fault, Mrs. Witt.” 

“ My fault ? ” 

“Yes. Why are you so hard to forget?” 
George thought there was no harm in 
putting it in a pleasant way. 

“ Ah, why was Miss — now is it Game or 
Games ? — so hard to forget ? ” 

“ It is, or rather was, Game. And I sup- 
pose she was hard to forget for the same 
reason as you — would be.” 

“ And what is that ? ” 

“ If you ask my cousin, no doubt he will 
tell you.” 

Neaera smiled. 

“What more can I do?” she asked. 
“ Your people didn’t know me. I have 
produced a letter showing I was somewhere 
else.” 

“ Excuse me ” 

“ Well, well, then, a copy of a letter.” 

“ What purports to be a copy.” 

“ How glad I am I’m not a lawyer ! It 
seems to make people so suspicious.” 

“It’s a great pity you didn’t keep the 
original.” 


90 


ME. WITT'S WIDOW. 


Neaera said nothing. Perhaps she did not 
agree. 

“ But I suppose you didn’t send for me to 
argue about the matter ? ” 

“No. I sent for you to propose peace. 
Mr. Neston, I am so weary of fighting. Why 
will you make me fight ? ” 

“ It’s not for my pleasure,” said George. 

“ For whose, then ? ” she asked, stretching 
out her arms with a gesture of entreaty. 
“ Cannot we say no more about it ? ” 

“ With all my heart.” 

“ And you will admit you were wrong ? ” 

“ That is saying more about it.” 

“You cannot enjoy the position you are 
in.” 

“ I confess that.” 

“ Mr. Neston, do you never think it’s 
possible you are wrong? But no, never 
mind. Will you agree just to drop it ? ” 

“ Heartily. But there’s the Bull's-eye .” 
“Oh, bother the Bull’s-eye 1 I’ll go and 
see the editor,” said Neaera. 

“ He’s a stern man, Mrs. Witt.” 

“ He won’t be so hard to deal with as you. 
There, that’s settled. Hurrah! Will you 
shake hands, Mr. Neston ? ” 


AN IMPOSSIBLE BABQAIS, 


“ By all means.” 

“ With a thief ? ” 

“ With you, thief or no thief. And I must 
tell you you are very ” 

“ What ? ” 

“ Well, above small resentments.” 

" Oh, what does it matter ? Suppose I did 
take the boots ? ” 

“ Shoes,” said George. 

Neaera burst into a laugh. “You are 
very accurate.” 

“ And you are very inaccurate, Mrs. 

Witt.” 

“I shall always be amused when I meet you. 
I shall know you have your hand on your 
watch.” 

“ Oh yes. I retract nothing.” 

“ Then it is peace ? ” 

“Yes.” 

Neaera sat up and gave him her hand, and 
the peace was ratified. But it so chanced 
that Neaera’s sudden movement roused the 
eat. He yawned and got up, arching his 
back, and digging his claws into the hearth- 
rug. 

“ Bob,” said Neaera, “ don’t spoil the rug.” 

George’s attention was directed to the 


82 


MS, WITT 6 WIDOW. 


animal, and, as he looked at it, he started. 
Bob’s change of posture had revealed a seri- 
ous deficiency : he had no tail, or the merest 
apology for a tail. 

It was certainly an odd coincidence, perhaps 
nothing more, but a very odd coincidence, 
that George should have seen in the court- 
yard at Peckton Gaol no less than three tail- 
less cats ! Of course there are a good many 
in the world ; but still most cats have tails. 

“I like a black cat, don’t you i” said 
Neaera. “ He’s nice and Satanic.” 

The Peckton cats were black, too, — black as 
ink or the heart of a money-lender. 

“ An old favourite ? ” asked George, insidi- 
ously. 

“ I’ve had him a good many years. Oh ! ” 

The last word slipped from Neaera in- 
voluntarily. 

‘‘Why ‘oh!’?” 

“ I’d forgotten his milk,” answered Neaera, 
with extraordinary promptitude. 

“ Where did you get him ? ” 

Neaera was quite calm , again. “Some 
friends gave him me. Please don’t say I 
stole my cat, too, Mr. Neston.” 

George smiled ; indeed, he almost laughed 


AN IMPOSSIBLE BAB Q AIN, 93 

“ Well, it is peace, Mrs. Witt,” he said, taking 
his hat. “ But remember ! ” 

“ Wbat ? ” said Neaera, who was still smil- 
ing and cordial, but rather less at her ease 
than before. 

“ A cat may tell a tale, though he bear 
none.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

“ If it is ever war again, I will tell yon. 
Q-ood-bye, Mrs. Witt.” 

“ Good-bye. Please don’t have poor Bob 
arrested. He didn’t steal the boots — oh, the 
shoes, at any rate.” 

“ I expect he was in prison already.” 

Neaera shook her head with an air of 
bewilderment. “I really don’t understand 
you. But I’m glad we’re not enemies any 
longer.” 

George departed, but Neaera sat down on 
the rug and gazed into the fire. Presently 
Bob came to look after the forgotten milk. 
He rubbed himself right along Neaera’s 
elbow, beginning from his nose, down to the 
end of what he called his tail. 

“ Ah, Bob,” said Neaera, “ what do you 
want? Milk, dear? ‘Good for evil, milk 
for 


u 


MB. WITT'S WIDOW. 


Bob purred and capered. Neaera gave 
him bis milk, and stood looking at him. 

“How would you like to be drowned, 
dear ? ” she asked. 

The unconscious Bob lapped on. 

Neaera stamped her foot. “ He shan’t ! 
He shan’t ! He shan’t ! ” she exclaimed. 
“ Not an inch ! Not an inch ! ” 

Bob finished his milk and looked up. 

“ No, dear, you shan’t be drowned. Don’t 
be afraid.” 

As Bob knew nothing about drowning, 
and only meant that he wanted more milk, 
he showed no gratitude for his reprieve. 
Indeed, seeing th«-re was to be no more milk, 
he pointedly turned his back, and began to 
wash his face. 


( •• ) 


CHAPTER YIII. 

THE FRACAS AT MRS. POCKLINGTON’S. 

“ I never heard anything so absurd in all 
my life,” said Mr. Blodwell, with emphasis. 

George had just informed him of the treaty 
between himself and Neaera. He had told 
his tale with some embarrassment. It is so 
difficult to make people who were not present 
understand how an interview came to take 
the course it did. 

“ She seemed to think it all right,” George 
said weakly. 

“Do you suppose you can shut people’s 
.mouths in that way ? ” 

“ There are other ways,” remarked George, 
grimly, for his temper began to go. 

“ There are,” assented Mr. Blodwell ; “ and 
in these days, if you use them, it’s five pounds 


98 


MR. WITT'S WIDOW. 


or a month, and a vast increase of gossip into 
the bargain. What does Gerald say ? ” 

“ Gerald ? Oh, I don’t know. I suppose 
Mrs. Witt can manage him.” 

“ Do you ? I doubt it. Gerald isn’t over 
easy to manage. Thii.k of the position you 
leave him in ! ” 

“ He believes in her.” 

“ Yes, but he won’t be content unless other 
people do. Of course they’ll say she squared 
you. 

“ Squared me ! ” exclaimed George, indig- 
nantly. 

“ Upon my soul, I’m not sure she hasn’t.” 

“ Of course you can say what you please^ 
sir. From you I can’t resent it.” 

“ Come, don’t be huffy. Bright eyes have 
their effect on everybody. By the way, have 
you seen Isabel Bourne lately ? ” 

“No.” 

“ Heard from her ? ” 

“ She sent me a message through Tommy 
Myles.” 

“ Is he in her confidence ? ” 

“Apparently. The effect of it was, that 
she didn’t want to see mo till I had come to 
my senses.” 


TBS FSAOAS AT MBS. FOOKUNGTON' 8 . 97 


“ Tn those words ? ” 

“ Those were Tommy’s words.” 

“ Then relations are strained ? ” 

“ Miss Bourne is the best judge of whom 
she wishes to see.” 

“ Quite so,” said Mr. Blodwell, cheerfully. 
** At present she seems to wish to see Myles. 
Well, well, George, you’ll have to come to 
your knees at last.” 

“ Mrs. Witt doesn’t require it.” 

“ Gerald will.” 

“ Gerald be But I’ve never told you 

of my fresh evidence.” 

“ Oh, you’re mad ! What’s in the wind 
now?” 

Five minutes later, George flung himself 
angrily out of Mr. Blodwell’s chambers, leav- 
ing that gentleman purple and palpitating 
with laughter, as he gently re-echoed, 

“The cat! Go to the jury on the cat, 
George, my boy ! ” 

To George, in his hour uf adversity, Mrs. 
Pocklington was as a tower of strength. She 
said that the Nestons might squabble among 
themselves as much as they liked ; it was no 
business of hers. As for the affair getting 
intc the papers, her visiting-list would suffer 

a 


98 


MB. WITT'S WIDOW. 


considerably if she cut out everybody who 
Was wrongly or, she added significantly, 
rightly abused in the papers. G-eorge Neston 
might be mistaken, but he was an honest 
young man, and for her part she thought 
him an agreeable one — anyhow, a great deal 
too good for that insipid child, Isabel Bourne. 
If anybody didn’t like meeting him at her 
house, they could stay away. Poor Laura 
Pocklington protested that she hated and 
despised George, but yet couldn’t stay away. 

“Then, my dear,” said Mrs. Pocklington, 
tartly, “ you can stay in the nursery.” 

“ It’s too bad ! ” exclaimed Laura. “ A 
man who says such things isn’t fit ” 

Mrs. Pocklington shook her head gently. 
Mr. Pocklington’s Radical principles extended 
no more to his household than to his business. 

“ Laura dear,” she said, in pained tones, 
“ I do so dislike argument.” 

So George went to dinner at Mrs. Pock' 
lington’s, and that lady, remorseless in parental 
discipline, sent Laura down to dinner with 
him; and, as everybody knows, there is 
nothing more pleasing and interesting than 
a pretty girl in a dignified pet George 
enjoyed himself. It was a long time 


THE FRAOAB AT MBS. POGKLINGTON'S. 99 

since he had flirted ; but really now, con- 
sidering Isabel’s conduct, he felt at perfect 
liberty to conduct himself as seemed to him 
good. Laura was an old friend, and George 
determined to see how implacable her wrath 
was. 

“It’s so kind of you to give me this 
pleasure,” he began. 

“ Pleasure ? ” said Laura, in her loftiest 
tone. 

“ Yes ; taking you down, you know.” 

“ Mamma made me.” 

“ Ah, now you’re trying to take me down.” 

“I wonder you can look any one in the 
face ” 

“ I always enjoy looking you in the face.” 

“ After the things you’ve said about poor 
Neaera ! ” 

“ Neaera ? ” 

“ Why shouldn't I call her Neaera ? ” 

“Oh, no reason at all. It may even be 
her name.” 

“A woman who backbites is bad, but a 
man — — - ” 

“ Is the deuce ? ” said George inquiringly. 

Laura tried another tack. “All your 
friends think you wrong, even mamma.” 


L,efC, 


100 


MB. WITT'S WIDOW. 


“What does that matter, as long as yos 
think I’m right ? ” 

“ I don’t ; I don’t, I think ” 

“That it’s great fun to torment a poo* 
man who ” 

George paused. 

“ Who what ? ” said Laura, with deplorable 
weakness. 

“ Values your good opinion very highly." 

“ Nonsense ! ” 

George permitted himself to sigh deeply. 
A faint twitching betrayed itself about the 
corners of Laura’s pretty mouth. 

“ If you want to smile, I will look away/’ 
said George. 

“You’re very foolish,” said Laura; and 
George knew that this expression on a lady’s 
lips is not always one of disapproval. 

“I am, indeed,” said he, “to spend my 
time in a vain pursuit.” 

“ Of Neaera ? ” 

“ No, not of Neaera.” 

“I should never,” said Laura, demurely, 
“ have referred to Miss Bourne, if you hadn’t, 

but as you have ” 

“I didn’t.” 

Presumably George explained whom be 


TEE FBACAS AT MBS. PC CELINO TON'S. 101 


did refer to, and apparently the explanation 
took the rest of dinner-time. And as 
the ladies went upstairs, Mrs. Pocklington 
patted Laura’s shoulder with an approving 
fan. 

“ There’s a good child ! It shows 
breeding to he agreeable to people you 
dislike.” 

Laura blushed a little, but answered duti- 
fully, “ I am glad you are pleased, mamma.” 
Most likely she did not impose on Mrs. 
Pocklington. She certainly did not on 
herself. 

George found himself left next to Sidmouth 

Yane. 

“ Hallo, Neston ! ” said that young gentle- 
man, with his usual freedom. “ Locked her 
up yet ? ” 

George said Mrs. Witt was still at large. 
Yane had been his fag, and George felt he 
was entitled to take it out of him in after 
life whenever he could. 

“ Wish you would,” continued Mr. Yane. 
“That ass of a cousin of yours would jilt 
her, and I would wait outside Holloway or 
Clerkenwell, or wherever they put ’em, and 
receive her sympathetically — hot breakfast, 


102 


MB. WITT' 8 WIDOW. 


brass band, first cigar for six months, and all 
that, don’t you know, like one of those Irish 
fellows.” 

“ You have no small prejudices.” 

“ Not much. A girl like that, plus 
an income like that, might steal all 
Northampton for what I care. Going 
upstairs ? ” 

“ Yes ; there’s an * At Home ’ on, isn’t 
there ? ” 

“Yes, so I’m told. I shouldn’t go, if J 
were you.” 

“ Why the devil not ? ” 

“ Gerald’s going to be there — told me so.” 

“Really, Vane, you’re very kind. We 
shan’t fight.” 

“I don’t know about that He’s simply 
mad.” 

“ Anything new ? ” 

“Yes; he told me you’d been trying to 
square Mrs. Witt behind his back, and he 
meant to have it out with you.” 

“ Well,” said George, “ I won’t run. Como 
along.” 

The guests were already pouring in, and 
among the first George encountered was Mr. 

Dennis Espion, as over-strained as ever. 


THE FRACAS AT MRS. POCALINGTON’8. 103 


Espion knew that George was aware of his 
position on tke BulFs-eye. 

“Ah, how are you, Neston?” he said, 
holding out his hand. 

George looked at it for a moment, and then 
took it. 

“ I support life and your kind attentions, 
Espion.” 

“ Ah ! well, you know, we can’t help it — 
a matter of public interest. I hope you see 
our position ” 

“Yes,” said George, urbanely; “II faut 
vivre.” 

“I don’t suppose you value our opinion, 
but ” 

“Oh yes; I value it at a penny — every 
evening,” 

“ I was going to say ” 

“ Keep it, my dear fellow. What you say 
has market value — to the extent I have 
mentioned.” 

“ My dear Neston, may I ” 

“ Consider this an interview ? My dear 
Espion, certainly. Make any use of this 
communication you please. Good night.” 

George strolled away. “ Suppose I was 
-ather rude,” he said to himself. “But, 


104 


MM. WITT'S WIDOW. 


hang it, I must have earned that fellow fiftj 
pounds ! ” 

George was to earn Mr. Espion a little 
more yet, as it turned out. He had not gone 
many steps before he saw his cousin Gerald 
making his bow to Mrs. Pocklington. Mr. 
Espion saw him too, and was on the alert. 
Gerald was closely followed by Tommy 
Myles. 

“ Ah, the enemy ! ” exclaimed George 
under his breath, pursuing his way towards 
Laura Pocklington. 

The throng was thick, and his progress 
slow. He had time to observe Gerald, who 
was now talking to Tommy and to Sidmouth 
Yane, who had joined them. Gerald was 
speaking low, but his gestures betrayed 
strong excitement. Suddenly he began to 
walk rapidly towards George, the people 
seeming to fall aside from his path. Tommy 
Myles followed him, while Yane all but ran 
to George and whispered eagerly, 

“ For God’s sake, clear out, my dear 
fellow! He’s mad! There’ll be a shindy, 
as sure as you’re born ! ” 

George did not like shindies, especially 
in drawing-rooms ; but he liked running 


TEE FRACAS AT MRS. PICKLING TON'S. 105 


away less. “ Oh, let’s wait and see,” he 
replied. 

Gerald was looking dangerous. The 
healthy ruddiness of his cheek had darkened 
to a deep flush, his eyes looked vicious, and 
his mouth was set. As he walked quickly 
up to his cousin, everybody tried to look 
away; but out of the corners of two hun- 
dred eyes eager glances centred on the 
pair. 

“ May I have a word with you ? ” Gerald 
began, calmly enough. 

“ As many as you like ; but I don’t know 
that this place ” 

“ It will lo for what I have to say,” Gerald 
interrupted. 

“ All right. What is it ? ” 

“ I want two things of you. First, you 
will promise never to dare to address my — 
Mrs. Witt again.” 

“ And the second ? ” asked George. 

u You will write and say you’ve told lies, 
and are sorry for it.” 

“ I address whom I please and write what 
I please.” 

Vane interposed. 

“ Really, Neston — you, Gerald, I mean— 


100 


MR. WITT’S WILOW. 


don’t make a row here. Cer’t you get him 
away, Tommy ? ” 

Gerald gave Tommy a warning look, and 
poor Tommy shook his head mournfully. 

George felt the necessity of avoiding a 
scene. He began to move quietly away. 
Gerald stood full in his path. 

“ You don’t go till you’ve answered. Will 
you do what I tell you ? ” 

“ Really, Gerald,” George began, still 
clinging to peace. 

“Yes or no?” 

“ No,” said George, with a smile and a 
shrug. 

“ Then, you cur, take ” 

In another moment he would have struck 
George full in the face, but the vigilant 
Yane caught his arm as he raised it. 

“ You damned fool ! Are you drunk ? ” 
he hissed into his ear. “ Everybody’s 
looking.” 

It was true. Everybody was. 

“ All the better,” Gerald blurted out. 
“ I’ll thrash him ” 

Tommy Myles ranged up and passed his 
hand through the angry man’s other 
arm. 


TEE FBAOAS AT MBS. POCKLINQTON'S. 107 

“Can’t you go, George?” asked Yane. 

“ No,” said George, calmly ; “ not till ha’s 
quiet.” 

The hu&h that had fallen on the room 
attracted Mrs. Pocklington’s attention. In 
a moment, as it seemed, though her move- 
ments were as a rule slow and stately, she 
was beside them, just in time to see Gerald 
make a violent effort to throw off Yane’s 
detaining hand. 

“I cannot get anybody to go into the 
music-room,” she said; “and the signora is 
waiting to begin. Mr. Neston, give me your 
arm, and we will show the way.” Then 
her eyes seemed to fall for the first time 
on George. “ Oh, you here too, Mr. 
George? Laura is looking for you every- 
where. Do find her. Come, Mr. Neston. 
Mr. Yane, go and give your arm to a 
lady.” 

The group scattered, obedient to her com- 
mands, and everybody breathed a little sigh, 
half of relief, half of disappointment, and 
told one another that Mrs. Pocklington was 
a great woman. 

“ In another second,” said Tommy Myles, 
as he restored himself with a glass of cham- 


108 


MB. WITT' a WIDOW. 


pagne, “ it would have been a case of Bo « 
Street ! ” 

“ I think it fairly amounts to a fracas ,* 
said Mr. Espion to himself; and as a fracas % 
accordingly, it figured. 


i m ) 


CHAPTER IX 

GERALD NESTON SATISFIES HIMSELF. 

On the following morning, Lord Tottlebury 
eat as arbitrator, gave an impartial consi- 
deration to both sides of the question, and 
awarded tbat George should apologise for 
his charges, and Gerald for his violence. 
Lord Tottlebury argued the case with ability, 
and his final judgment was able and con- 
clusive. Unfortunately, however, misled by 
the habit before mentioned of writing to 
the papers about matters other than those 
which immediately concerned him. Lord 
Tottlebury forgot that neither party had 
asked him to adjudicate, and, although Maud 
Neston was quite convinced by his reason- 
ing, his award remained an opinion in vacuo ; 
and the two clear and full letters which he 


110 


MIL- WITT'S WIDOW. 


wrote expressing his views were consigned by 
their respective recipients to the waste-paper 
basket. Each of the young men thanked 
Lord Tottlebury for his kind efforts, but 
feared that the unreasonable temper dis- 
played by the other would render any 
attempt at an arrangement futile. Lord 
Tottlebury sighed, and sadly returned to 
his article on “ What the Kaiser should do 
next.” He was in a hurry to finish it, 
because he also had on hand a reply to 
Professor Dressingham’s paper on “ The 
Gospel Narrative and the Evolution ot 
Crustacea in the Southern Seas.” 

After his outburst, Gerald Neston had 
allowed himself to be taken home quietly, 
and the next morning he had so far reco- 
vered his senses as to promise Sidmouth Yane 
that he would not again have recourse to 
personal violence. He said he had acted on 
a momentary impulse — which Yane did not 
believe, — and, at any rate, nothing of the 
kind need be apprehended again ; but as for 
apologising, he should as soon think of 
blacking George’s boots. In fact, he was, 
on the whole, well pleased with himself, 
and, in the course of the day, went off 


GERALD NESTON SATISFIES HIMSELF. Ill 

to Neaera to receive her thanks and 
approval. 

He found her m very low spirits. She 
had been disappointed at the failure of her 
arrangement with George, and half inclined 
to rebel at Gerald’s peremptory veto on any 
attempt at hushing up the question. She 
had timidly tried the line of pooh-poohing 
the whole matter, and Gerald had clearly 
shown her that, in his opinion, it admitted 
of no such treatment. She had not dared 
to ask him seriously if he would marry 
her, supposing the accusation were true. A 
joking question of the kind had been put 
aside as almost in bad taste, and, at any rate, 
ill-timed. Consequently she was uneasy, and 
ready to be very miserable on the slightest 
provocation. But to-day Gerald came in a 
different mood. He was triumphant, aggres- 
sive, and fearless; and before he had been 
in the room ten minutes, he broached his 
new design — a design that was to show con- 
clusively the esteem in which he held the 
vile slanders and their utterer. 

Be married directly ! Oh, Gerald ! ” 

“ Why not, darling ? It will be the best 
answer to them.” 


112 


MR. WITT'S W1D0 W. 


“ What would your father say ? ” 

“ I know he will approve. Why shouldn’t 
he?” 

“ But — but everybody is talking about me.” 

“ What do I care ? ” 

It suits some men to be in love, and Gerald 
looked very well as he threw out his defiance 
ufbi et orbi. Neaera was charmed and touched. 

“ Gerald dear, you are too good — you are, 
indeed, — too good to me and too good for 
me.” 

Gerald said, in language too eloquent to 
be reproduced, that nobody could help being 
“ good ” to her, and nobody in the world was 
good enough for her. 

“ And are you content to take me entirely 
on trust ? ” 

“ Absolutely.” 

“ While I am under this shadow ? ” 

“You are under no shadow. I take your 
word implicitly, as I would take it against 
gods and men.” 

“ Ah, I don’t deserve it.” 

“ Who could look in your eyes ” — Gerald 
was doing so — “ and think of deceit ? Why 
do you look away, sweetheart? ” 

“ I daren’t — I daren’t ! ” 


GERALD VEBTOR SATISFIES HIMSELF. 113 


“What?” 

“ Be — be — trusted like tliat ! ” 

Gerald smiled. “ Very well ; then you 
shan’t be. I will treat you as if — as if I 
doubted you. Then will you be satisfied ? ” 

Neaera tried to smile at this pleasantry. 
She was kneeling by Gerald’s chair as she 
often did, looking up at him. 

“ Doubted me ? ” she said. 

“ Yes, since you won’t let your eyes speak 
for you, I will put you to the question. 
Will that be enough ? ” 

Poor Neaera! she thought it would be 
quite enough. 

“ And I will ask you, what I have never 
condescended to agk yet, dearest, if there’s a 
word of truth in it all ? ” Gerald, still play- 
fully, took one of her hands and raised it 
aloft. “Now look at me and say — what 
shall be your oath ? ” 

Neaera was silent. This passed words; 
every time she spoke she made it worse. 

“ I know,” pursued Gerald, who was much 
pleased with his little comedy. “Say this, 
* On my honour and love, I am not the 
girl.’” 

Wh^ hadn’t she let him alone with his 

i 


114 


MR. WITTS WIDOW. 


nonsense about her eyes? That was not, 
to Neaera’s thinking, as bad as a lie direct. 
“ On her honour and love ! ” She could not 
help hesitating for just a moment. 

“I am not the girl, on my honour and 
love.” Her words came almost with a sob, 
a stifled sob, that made Gerald full of remorse 
and penitence, and loud in imprecations on 
his own stupidity. 

“ It was all a joke, sweetest,” he pleaded ; 
“but it was a stupid joke, and it has 
distressed you. Did you dream I doubted 
you?” 

“No.” 

“Well, then, say you knew it was a 
joke.” 

“Yes, dear, I know it was, — of course it 
was ; but it — it rather frightened me.” 

“Poor child! Never mind; you’ll be 
amused when you think of it presently. 
And, my darling, it really, seriously, does 
make me happier. I never doubted, but 
it is pleasant to hear the truth from 
your own sweet lips. Now I am ready 
for all the world. And what about the 
day?” 

“The day?” 


GERALD NESTON SATISFIES HIMSELF. 115 


“Of course you don’t know what day! 
Shall it be directly ? ” 

“ What does « directly ’ mean ? ” asked 
Neaera, mustering a rather watery smile. 

“ In a week.” 

“Gerald!” 

But, after the usual negotiations, Neaera 
was brought to consent to that day three 
weeks, provided Lord Tottlebury’s approval 
was obtained. 

•“And, please, don’t quarrel with your 
cousin any more ! ” 

“ I can afford to let him alone now.” 

“ And Are you going, Gerald ? ” 

“No time to lose. I’m off to see the 
governor, and I shall come back and fetch 
you to dine in Portman Square. Good-bye 
for an hour, darling ! ” 

“ Gerald, suppose ** 

« Well!” 

“ If — if No, nothing. Good-bye, 

dear ; and ” 

“ What is it, sweet ? ” 

** Nothing — well, and don’t be long.** 
Gerald departed in raptures. As soon as 
he was out of the room, the tailless cat 
emerged from under the sofa. He hated 


118 


MR. WITTS WIDOW. 


violent motion of all kinds, md lovers are 
restless beings. Now, thank heaven! there 
was a chance of lying on the hearth-rug 
without being trodden upon ! 

“ Did you hear that, Bob ? ” asked Neaera. 
“ I — I went the whole hog, didn’t I ? ” 

Lord Tottlebury, who was much less in- 
flexible than he seemed, did not hold out 
long against G-erald’s vehemence, and the 
news soon spread that defiance was to be 
hurled in George’s face. The BulVs-eye 
was triumphant. Isabel Bourne and Maud 
Neston made a hero of Gerald and a heroine 
of Neaera. Tommy Myles hastened to se- 
cure the position of “ best man,” and 
Sidmouth Yane discovered and acknow- 
ledged a deep worldly wisdom in Gerald’s 
conduct. 

“ Of course,” said he to Mr. Blodwell, 
on the terrace, “ if it came out before 
the marriage, he’d stand pledged to throw 
her over, with the cash. But afterwards ! 
Well, it won’t affect the settlement, at all 
■events,” 

Mr. Blodwell said he thought Gerald had 
not been actuated by this motive. 

“Depend upon it, he has,” persisted Yane. 


GERALD NESTON SATISFIES HIMSELF. Ill 


“Before marriage, the deuce! After mar- 
riage, a little weep and three months on the 
Riviera ! ” 

“ Oh, I suppose, if it came out after mar- 
riage, George would hold his tongue.” 

“ Do you, by Jove ? Then he’d be ihe 
most forgiving man in Europe. Why, he’s 
been hunted down over the business — simply 
hunted down ! ” 

“ That’s true. No, I suppose he’d be bound 
to have his revenge.” 

“ Revenge ! He’d have to justify himself.” 

Mr. Blodwell had the curiosity to pursue 
the subject with George himself. 

“ After the marriage ? Oh, I don’t know. 
I should like to score off the lot of 
them.” 

“ Naturally,” said Mr. Blodwell. 

“ At any rate, if I find out anything before, 
I shall let them have it They haven’t spared 
me.” 

“ Anything new ? ” 

“ Yes. They’ve got the committee at the 
Themis to write and tell me that it’s awk- 
ward to have Gerald and me in the same 
club.” 

“ That’s strong.” 


118 


MR. WITTS WIDOW. 


“ I have to thank Master Tommy for that, 
Of course it means that I’m to go ; but I 
won’t. If they like to kick me out, they 
can.” 

“ What’s Tommy Myles so hot against you 
for?” 

“Oh, those girls have got hold of him — 
Maud, and Isabel Bourne.” 

“ Isabel Bourne ? ” 

“ Yes,” said George, meeting Mr. Blodwell’s 
questioning eye. “Tommy has a mind to 
try his luck there, I think.” 

“ Vice you retired.” 

“ Well, retired or turned out. It’s like the 
army, you know; the two come to pretty 
much the same thing.” 

“ You must console yourself, my boy,” said 
Mr. Blodwell, slyly. He heard of most things, 
and he had heard of Mrs. Pocklington’s last 
dinner-party. 

“ Oh, I’m an outcast now. No one would 
look at me.” 

“Don’t be a humbug, George. Go and 
see Mrs. Pocklington, and, for heaven’s sake 
let me get to my work.” 

It was Mr. Blodwell’s practice to inveigle 
people into long gossips, and then abuse 


GERALD NESTON SATISFIES HIMSELF. 119 

them for wasting his time; so George was 
not disquieted by the reproach. But he 
took the advice, and called in Grosvenor 
Square. He found Mrs. Pocklington in, 
but she was not alone. Her visitor was 
a very famous person, hitherto known to 
George only by repute, — the Marquis of 
Mapledurham. 

The Marquis was well known on :he 
turf and also as a patron of art, but it is 
necessary to add that more was known of 
him than was known to his advantage. In 
fact, he gave many people the opportunity 
of saying they would not count him 
among their acquaintances ; and he gave 
very few of them the chance of breaking 
their word. He and Mrs. Pocklington 
amused one another, and, whatever he 
did, he never said anything that was open 
to complaint. 

For some time George talked to Laura, 
Laura, having once come over to his side, 
was full of a convert’s zeal, and poured abun- 
dant oil and wine into his wounds. 

“ How could I ever have looked at Isabel 
Bourne when she was there ? ” he began to 
think. 


126 


MB. WITT 8 WIDOW. 


“ Mr. Neston,” said Mrs. Pocklington, 
“ Lord Mapledurham wants to know whether 
you are the Mr. Neston.” 

“ Mrs. Pocklington has betrayed me, Mr. 
Neston,” said the Marquis. 

“I am one of the two Mr. Nestons, I 
suppose,” said George, smiling. 

“ Mr. George Neston ? ” asked the Marquis. 

“Yes.” 

“And you let him come here, Mrs. Pock- 
lington ? ” 

“ Ah, you know my house is a caravan- 
serai. I heard you remark it yourself the 
other day.” 

“ I shall go,” said the Marquis, rising. 
“ And, Mrs. Pocklington, I shall be content 
if you say nothing worse of my house. Good- 
bye, Miss Laura. Mr. Neston, I shall have 
a small party of bachelors to-morrow. It 
will be very kind if you will join us. Dinner 
at eight.” 

“ See what it is to be an abused man,” 
said Mrs. Pocklington, laughing. 

“ In these days the wicked must stand 
shoulder to shoulder,” said the Marquis. 

George accepted; in truth, he was rather 
flattered. And Mrs. Pocklington went away 


GERALD NESTON SATISFIES HIMSELF. 121 


for quite a quarter of an hour. So that, 
altogether, he returned to the opinion that 
iife is worth living, before he left the 

house. 


i2a 


ALB. WITT 8 WIDOW 


CHAPTER X. 

REMINISCENCES OF A NOBLEMAN. 

Once upon a time, many years before this 
story begins, a certain lady said, and indeed 
swore with an oath, that Lord Mapledurham 
had promised to marry her, and claimed ten 
thousand pounds as damages for the breach 
of that promise. Lord Mapledurham said his 
memory was treacherous about such things, 
and he never contradicted a lady on a question 
of fact: but the amount which his society 
was worth seemed fairly open to difference 
of opinion, and he asked a jury of his 
countrymen to value it. This cause ce'lebre, 
for such it was in its day, did not improve 
Lord Mapledurham’s reputation, hut, on the 
other hand, it made Mr. Blod well’s. That 
gentleman reduced the damages to one 


BEMimBOENCES OF A NOBLEMAN, 123 

thomnd, and Lord Mapledurham said that 
his cross-examination of the plaintiff was 
quite worth the money. Since then, the 
two had been friends, and Mr. Blodwell 
prided himself greatly on his intimacy with 
such an exclusive person as the Marquis. 
George enjoyed his surprise at the announce- 
ment that they would meet that evening at 
the dinner-party. 

“ Why the dickens does he ask you ? ” 

“ my honour, I don’t know.” 

“It will destroy the last of your reputa- 
tion.” 

“ Oh, not if you are there, sir.” 

When George arrived at Lord Maple- 
durham s, he found nobody except his host 
and Mr. Blodwell. 

“I must apologize for having nobody to 
meet you, Mr. Neston, except an old friend. 
I asked young Vane— whose insolence amuses 
me,— and Fitzderham, but they couldn’t 
come.” 

“ Three ’ s a good number,” said Mr. Blod- 
well. 

“ If they’re three men. But two men and 

a woman, or two women and a man 

awful!” 


124 


MB. WITT 3 WIDOW. 


“Well, we are men, though George is a 
young one.” 

“I don’t feel very young,” said George, 
smiling, as they sat down. 

“ I am fifty-five,” said the Marquis, “ and I 
feel younger every day, — not in body, you 
know, for I’m chockful of ailments; but in 
mind. I am growing out of all the responsi- 
bilities of this world.” 

“ And of the next ? ” asked Blodwell. 

“In the next everything is arranged for 
us, pleasantly or otherwise. As to this one, 
no one expects anything more of me — no 
work, no good deeds, no career, no nothing. 
It’s a delicious freedom.” 

“ You never felt your bonds much.” 

“ No ; but they were there, and every now 
md then they dragged on my feet.” 

“Your view of old age is comforting,” 
said George. 

“ Only, George, if you want to realize it, 
you must not marry,” said Mr. Blodwell. 

“No, no,” said the Marquis. “By the 
way, Blodwell, why did you never marry ? ” 

“Too poor, till too late,” said Mr. Blodwell, 
briefly. 

Tho Marquis raised his glass, and seemed 


REMINISCENCES OF A NOBLEMAN. 126 


to drink a respectful toast to a dead 
romance. 

“ And you, Lord Mapledurham ? ” George 
ventured to ask. 

“ Ay, ask him ! ” said Mr. Blodwell. 
“ Perhaps his reason will be less sadly 
commonplace.” 

“ I don’t know,” Said the Marquis, ponder- 
ing. “Some of them expected it, and that 
disgusted me. And some of them didn’t, 
and that distrusted me too.” 

“You put^fche other sex into rather a 
difficult position,” remarked George, laughing. 

“ Nothing to what they’ve put me info. 

“ Now, tel^^ae, Mapledurham,” said Mr. 
Blodwell, who was in a serious mood to-night. 
“On the whole, have you enjoyed your 
life?” 

“I have wasted opportunities, talents, 
substance — everything: and enjoyed it con- 
foundedly. I am no use even as a 
warning.” 

“ Ask a parson” said Mr. Blodwell, 
dryly. 

“ I remember,” the Marquis went on, 
dreamily, “ an old ruffian — another old ruffian 


120 


MS. WITTS WIDOW. 


— saying just the same sort of thing one 
night. I was at Liverpool for the Cup. Well, 
in the evening, I got tired of the other fellows, 
and went out for a turn ; and down a back 
street, I found an old chap sitting on a 
doorstep, — a dirty old fellow, but uncommonly 
picturesque, with a long grey beard. As I 
came by, he was just trying to get up, but he 
staggered and fell back again.” 

“ Drunk ? ” asked Mr. Blodwell. 

The Marquis nodded. “I gave him a 
hand, and asked if I could do Jtny thing for 
him. ‘Yes, give me a drink,’ says he. I 
tof& him he was drunk already, but he said 
that made no odds, so I help ed him to t^e 
nearest gin-palace. 

“ Behold this cynic’s unacknowledged 
kindnesses ! ” said Mr. Blodwell. 

“ Sat him down in a chair, and gave him 
liquor. 

“ * Do you enjoy getting drunk ? ’ I asked 
him, just as you asked me if I had enjoyed 
life. 

“ His drink didn’t interfere with his tongue, 
it only seemed to take him in the legs. He 
put down his glass, and made me a little 


REMINISCENCES OF A NOBLEMAN. 127 


u ‘ Liquor,’ sajs he, * has been my curse ; 
it’s broken up my home, spoilt my work, 
destroyed my character, sent me and mine 
to gaol and shame. G-od bless liquor ! 
say I.’ 

“ I told him he was an old beast, much as 
you, Blodwell, told me I was, in a politer way. 
He only grinned, and said, ‘ If you’re a gentle- 
man, you’ll see me home. Lying in the 
gutter costs five shillings, next morning, 
and I haven’t got it.’ 

“ ‘ All right,’ said I ; and after another 
glass we started out. He knew the way, 
and led me through a lot of filthy places to 
one of the meanest dens I ever saw. A red- 
faced, red-armed, red-voiced (you know what 
I mean) woman opened the door, and let fly a 
cloud of Billingsgate at him. The old chap 
treated her with lofty courtesy. 

“ ‘ Quite true, Mrs. Bort,’ says he ; ‘ you’re 
always right : I have ruined myself.’ 

“ ‘ And yer darter ! ’ shrieked the woman. 

“ ‘ And my daughter. And I am drunk 
now, and hope to be drunk to-morrow.* 

“ ‘ Ah ! you old beast ! ’ said she, just as I 
had, shaking her fist. 

“ He turned round to me, and said, ‘ I am 


128 


MR. WITT 8 WIDOW. 


obliged to you, sir. I don’t know youi 
name.’ 

“ * You wouldn’t be better off if you did, 
says I. * You couldn’t drink it.’ 

44 ‘ Will you give me a sovereign ? ’ be 
asked. 4 A week’s joy, sir, — a week’s joy and 
life.’ 

“ ‘ G-ive it me,’ said the woman, 4 then me 
and she’ll get something to eat, to keep us 
alive.’ 

“I’m a benevolent man at bottom, Mr. 
Neston, as Blodwell remarks. I said, 

“ 4 Here’s a sovereign for you and her ’ (I 
supposed she meant the daughter) 4 to help in 
keeping you alive; and here’s a sovereign 
for you, sir, to help in killing you — and the 
sooner the better, say I.’ 

44 4 You’re right,’ said he. 4 The liquor’s 
beginning to lose its taste. And when that’s 
gone, Luke Gale’s gone ! ’ ” 

“ Luke who ? ” burst from the two 
men. 

Lord Mapledurham looked up. “ What’s 
the matter ? Gale, I think. I found out 
afterwards that the old animal had painted 
water-colours — the only thing he had to do 
with water.” 


MXMLNIBOENOEB OF A NOBLEMAN , 129 


“The Lord hath delivered her into your 
hand,” said Mr. Blodwell to George. 

“ Are you drunk too, Blodwell ? * asked 
the Marquis. 

“No; but ” 

“ What was the woman’s name ? ” asked 
George, taking out a note-book. 

“ Bort. Going to tell me ? ” 

“ Weil, if you don’t mind ” 

“ Not a bit. Tell me later on, if it’s 
amusing. There are so precious few amusing 
things.” 

“ You didn’t see the daughter, did you?” 

“ Oh, of course it’s the daughter ! No.” 

“ Did you ever know a man named Witt?” 

“ Never ; but, Mr. Neston, I have heard of 
a Mrs. Witt. Now, Blodwell, either out with 
it, or shut up and let’s talk of something 
else.” 

“ The latter, please,” said Mr. Blodwell, 
urbanely. 

And the Marquis, who had out-grown 
the vanity of desiring to know everything, 
made no effort to recur to the subject. 
Only, as George took his leave, he received 
a piece of advise, together with a cordial 
invitation to come again. 


X 


130 


MB. WITT 8 WIDOW. 


** Excuse me, Mr. Neston,* said the Mar- 
quis. “ I fancy I have given you some 
involuntary assistance to-night.” 

“I hope so. I shall know in a day or 
two.” 

“To like to be right, Mr. Neston, is the 
last weakness of a wise man ; to like to be 
thought right is the inveterate prejudice of 
fools.” 

“That last is a hard saying, my lord,” 
said George, with a laugh. 

“ It really depends mostly on your income,” 
answered the Marquis. “ Good-nigh^ Mr. 
Neston,” 

George said good-night, and walked off, 
shrugging his shoulders at the thought that 
even so acute a man as Lord Mapledurham 
seemed unable to appreciate his position. 

“ They all want me to drop it,” he mused. 

“Well, I will, unless 1 But to-morrow 

I’ll go to Liverpool.” 

He was restless and excited. Home and 
bed seemed unacceptable, and he turned into 
the Themis Club, whence the machinations of 
the enemy had not yet ejected him. There, 
extended on a sofa and smcking a cigar, he 
found Sidmouth Yane. 


REMINISCENCES OF A NOBLEMAN. 131 


“ Why didn’t you come to Lord Maple* 
durham’s, Yane ? ” asked George. 

“ Oh, have you been there ? I was dining 
with my chief. I didn’t know you knew 
Mapledurham.” 

“ I met him yesterday for the first time.’* 

“He’s a queer old sinner,” said Yane, 
“ But have you heard the news ? ” 

“ No. Is there any ? ” 

“ Tommy Myles has got engaged.” 

George started. He had a presentiment 
of the name of the lady. 

“Pull yourself together, my dear boy,” 
continued Yane. “ Bear it like a man.” 

“ Don’t be an ass, Vane. I suppose it’s 
Miss Bourne ? ” 

Yane nodded. “ It would really be amus- 
ing,” he said, “ if you’d tell me honestly how 
you feel. But, of course, you won’t. You’ve 
begun already to look as if you’d never heard 
of Miss Bourne.” 

“ Bosh ! ” said George. 

“ Now, I always wonder why fellows do 
that. When I’ve been refused by a girl, 
an d ” 

“ I beg your pardon,” said George. “ I 
haven’t been refused by Miss Bourne.” 


132 


ME. WITTB WIDOW. 


“ Well, you would have been, yon know. 
It comes to the same thing.” 

George laughed. “ I dare say I should ; 
but I never meant to expose myself to such 
a fate.” 

“ George, my friend, do you think you’re 
speaking the truth ? ” 

“ I am speaking the truth.” 

“Not a bit of it,” responded Yane, calmly. 
“ A couple of months ago you meant to ask 
her ; and, what’s more, she’d have had 
you.” 

George was dimly conscious that this might 
be so. 

“ It isn’t my moral,” Yane went on. 

“ Your moral ? ” 

“ No. I took it from the BulVs-eye .” 

George groaned. 

“They announce the marriage to-night, 
and add that they have reason to believe 
that the engagement has come about largely 
through the joint interest of the parties in 
l affaire Neston.” 

“ I should say they are unusually accurate.” 

“Meaning thereby, to those who have 
eyes, that she’s jilted you because of your 

goings-on, and taken up with Tommy, In 


ME MINIS CENCEB OF A NOBLEMAN. 133 


consequence, you are to-night ‘pointing a 
moral and adorning a tale.’ ” 

“ The devil ! ” 

“ Yes, not very soothing, is it ? But so it 
is. I looked in at Mrs. Pocklington’s, and 
they were all talking about it.” 

“ The Pocklingtons were ? ” 

** Yes. And they asked me n 

“ Who asked you ? ” 

“ Oh, Yiolet Fitzderham and Laura 
Pocklington, — if it was the fact that you 
were in love with Miss Bourne.” 

“ And what did you say ? ” 

“ I said it was matter of notoriety.” 

“ Confound your gossip ! There’s not a 
word of truth in it.” 

“ I didn’t say there was. I said it was a 
matter of notoriety. So it was.” 

“ And did they believe it ? ” 

“ Did who believe it ? ” asked Yane, smil- 
ing slightly. 

“ Oh, Miss Pocklington, and — and the 
other girl.” 

“ Yes, Miss Pocklington and the other 
girl, I think, believed it.” 

“ What did they say ? ” 

“ The other girl said it served you right” 


134 


MR. WITT'S WIDOW. 


“ And- ?” 

“ And Mis^ Pocklington said it was time 
for some music.” 

“ Upon my soul, it’s too bad ! ” 

“ My dear fellow, you know you were in 
love with her — in your fishlike kind of way. 
Only you’ve forgotten it. One does forget 
it when ” 

“ Well ? ” asked George. 

“When one’s in love with another girl. 
Ah, George, you can’t escape my eagle eye ! 
I saw your game, and I did you a kindness.” 

George thought it no use trying to keep 
his secret. “ That’s your idea of a kindness, 
is it?” 

“ Certainly. I’ve made her jealous.” 

“ Really,” said George, haughtily, “ I think 
this discussion of ladies’ feelings is hardly in 
good taste.” 

“Quite right, old man,” answered Vane, 
imperturbably. “ It’s lucky that didn’t strike 
you before you’d heard all you wanted to.” 

“I say, Vane,” said George, leaning for- 
ward, “ did she seem ” 

“ Miss Pocklington, or the other girl ? ” 

“Oh, damn the other girl! Did she, 
Vane, old boy?” 


MEMWISCENOEB OF A NOBLEMAS. 136 


“ Yes, she did, a little, George, old boy.” 

“ I’m a fool,” said George. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Vane, tolerantly. 
k I’m always a fool myself about these 
things.” 

“ I must go and see them to-morrow. No, 
I can’t go to-morrow; I have to go out of 
town.” 

“Ah! where?” 

“ Liverpool, on business.” 

“ Liverpool, on business ! Dear me ! I’ll 
tell you another odd thing, George, —a 
coincidence.” 

“Well?” 

“ You’re going to Liverpool to-morrow on 
business. Well, to-day, Mrs. Witt went to 
Liverpool on business.” 

“ The devil ! ” said George, for the second 
time. 


in 


tat. WZTTB WIDOW. 


CHAPTER XI. 

PRESENTING AN HONEST WOMAN. 

To fit square pegs into round holes is one of 
the favourite pastimes of Nature. She does 
it roughly, violently, and with wanton dis- 
regard of the feelings of the square pegs. 
When, in her relentless sport, she has at last 
driven the poor peg in and made it fit, hy 
dint of knocking off and abrading all its 
corners, philosophers glorify her, calling the 
process evolution, and plain men wonder why 
she did not begin at the other end, and make 
the holes square to fit the pegs. 

The square peg on which these trite reflec- 
tions hang is poor Neaera Witt. Nature 
made her a careless, ease-loving, optimistic 
creature, only to drive her, of malice prepense, 
into an environment — that is to say, in un- 


PBSSENTING AN HONEST WOMAN. 137 


scientific phrase, a hole — where she had 
need of the equipment of a full-blooded 
conspirator. 

She resisted the operation ; she persistently 
trusted to chance to extricate her from the 
toils into which she, not being a philosopher, 
thought chance had thrown her. If she saw 
a weapon ready to her hand, she used it, as 
she had used the Bournemouth character, but 
for the most part she trusted to luck. George 
Neston would fail, or he would relent; or 
Gerald would be invincibly incredulous, or, 
she would add, smiling at her face in the 
glass, invincibly in love. Somehow or other 
matters would stiaighten themselves out; 
and, at the worst, ten days more would bring 

the marriage; and after the marriage 

But really, ten days ahead is as far as one 
can be expected to look, especially when the 
ten days include one’s wedding. 

Nevertheless, Sidmouth Vane had a knack 
of being correct in his information, and he 
was correct in stating that Neaera had gone 
to Liverpool on business. It was, of course, 
merely a guess that her errand might be 
connected with George’s, but it happened to 
h* a right guess. Neaera knew wtell the weak 


138 


MB. WITT S WIDOW 


spot in her armour. Hitherto she had bison 
content to trust to her opponent not discover- 
ing it; but, as the decisive moment came 
nearer, a nervous restlessness so far overcame 
her natural insouciance as to determine her 
to an effort to complete her defences, in 
anticipation of any assault upon them. She 
was in happy ignorance of the chance that 
had directed George’s forces against her 
vulnerable point, and imagined that she her- 
self was, in all human probability, the only 
person in London to whom the name of Mrs. 
Bort would be more than an unmeaning 
uneuphonious syllable. To her the name 
was full of meaning ; for, from her youth till 
the day of the happy intervention of that 
stout and elderly dens ex machina, the late 
Mr. Witt, Mrs. Bort had been to Neaera the 
impersonation of virtue and morality, and 
the physical characteristics that had caught 
Lord Mapledurham’s frivolous attention had 
been to her merely the frowning aspect under 
which justice and righteousness are apt to 
present themselves. 

Neaera was a good -near ted girl, and Mrs. 
Bort now lived on a comfortable pension, but 
no love mingled with the sense' of duty that 


PBESEN17NQ AN E0NE8T WOMAN. 139 


inspired the gift. Mrs. Bort had interpreted 
her quasi-matemal authority with the widest 
latitude, and Neaera shuddered to remember 
how often Mrs. Bort’s discipline had made 
her smart, in a way, against which apathy 
of conscience was no shield or buckler. 
Recorder Dawkins would have groaned to 
know how even judicial terrors paled in 
Neaera’s recollection before the image of 
Mrs. Bort. 

These childish fears are hard to shake off, 
and Neaera, as she sped luxuriously to Liver- 
pool, acknowledged to herself that, in that 
dreadful presence, no adventitious glories of 
present wealth or future rank would avail 
her. The governing fact in the situation, 
the fact that Neaera did not see her way to 
meet, was that Mrs. Bort was an honest 
woman. Neaera knew her, and knew that 
a bribe would be worse than useless, even if 
she dared to offer it. 

“ And I don’t think,” said Neaera, resting 
her pretty chin upon her pretty hand, “ that 
I should dare.” Then she laughed ruefully. 
“ I’m not at all sure she wouldn’t beat me ; 
and if she did, what could I do ? ” 

Probably Neaera exaggerated even the fear- 


140 


MR. WITT 8 WIDOW. 


less rectitude of Mrs. Bort, but she was so 
convinced of the nature of the reception which 
any proposal of the obvious kind would meet 
with that she made up her mind that her only 
course was to throw herself on Mrs. Bort a 
mercy, in case that lady proved deaf to a 
subtle little proposal which was Neaera’s first 
weapon. 

So far as Neaera knew, Peckton and Man- 
chester were the only places in which George 
Neston was likely to seek for traces of her. 
Liverpool, though remote from Peckton, was 
uncomfortably near Manchester. Every day 
now had great value. If she could get Mrs. 
Bort away to some remote spot as soon as 
might be, she gained do small advantage in 
her race against time and George Neston. 

“If she will only go to Glentarroch, he 
will never find her.” 

Glentarroch was the name of a little retreat 
in remote Scotland, whither Mr. Witt had 
been wont to betake himself for rest and 
recreation. It was Neaera’s now. It was a 
beautiful place, which was immaterial, and 
a particularly inaccessible one, which was 
most material. Would not Mrs. Bort’s des- 
potic mstmots lead her fe> accept an invitee 


PRESENTING AN HONEST WOMAN. 141 


tion to rule over Glentarroch ? Neaera could 
not afford to pity the hapless wights over 
whom Mrs. Bort would rule. 

Mrs. Bort received Neaera in a way 
most unbecoming to a pensioner. “Well, 
Nery,” she said, “ what brings you here ? 
No good, I’ll be bound. Where’s your 
mourning ? ” 

Neaera said that she thought resignation 
to Heaven’s will not a subject of reproach, 
and that she came to ask a favour of Mrs. 
Bort 

“ Ay, you come to me when you want some- 
thing. That’s the old story.” 

Neaera remembered that Mrs. Bort had 
often taken her own view of what the suppli- 
cant wanted, and given something quite 
other than what was asked; but, in spite 
of this unpromising opening, she persevered, 
and laid before Mrs. Bort a dazzling picture 
of the grandeur waiting her at Glentarroch. 

“ And I shall be so much obliged. Keaily, 
I don’t know what the servants — the girls, 
especially — may be doing.” 

“ Carryings-on, I’ll be bound,” said Mrs. 
Bort. “Why don’t you go yourself 


142 


MR. WITTS WIDOW. 


“ Oh, I can’t, indeed. I — I must stay in 
London.” 

“ Nasty, cold, dull little place it sounds," 
said Mrs. Bort. 

“ Oh, of course I shall consider all 
that ” 

“ He — he ! ” Mrs. Bort sniggered unplea- 
santly. “ So it ain’t sech a sweet spot, as ye 
call it, after all ? ” 

Neaera recovered herself without dignity, 
and stated that she thought of forty pounds 
a year and all found. 

“Ah, if I knowed what you was at, 
Nery ! ” 

Neaera intimated that it was simply a 
matter of mutual accommodation. “ And 
there’s really no time to be lost,” she 
said, plaintively. “ I’m being robbed every 
day.” 

“ Widows has hard times,” said Mrs. Bort. 
And Neaera did not think it necessary to 
say how soon her hard times were coming 
to an end. 

“ Come agin to-morrer afternoon, and 
I’ll tell ye,” was Mrs. Bort’s ultimatum. 
“ And mind you don’t get into mischief” 

“ Why afternoon ? ” asked Neaera. 


PS E SEN TING AN HONEST WOMAN. 143 

“'Cause I’m washing,” said Mrs. Bort, 
snappishly. “ That’s why.” 

Neaera in vain implored an immediate 
answer. Mrs. Bort said a day could not 
matter, and that, if Neaera pressed her 
further, she should consider it an indication 
that something was “ up,” and refuse to 
go at all. Neaera was silenced, and sadly 
returned to her hotel. 

“ How I hate that good, good woman ! ” 
she cried. “ I’ll never see her again as long 
as I live, after to-morrow. Oh, I should like 
to hit her ! ” 

The propulsions of cause upon cause are, 
as Bacon has said, infinite. If Mrs. Bort 
had not washed — in the technical sense, of 
course — on that particular Friday, Neaera 
would have come and gone — perhaps even 
Mrs. Bort might have gone too — before the 
train brought George Neston to Liverpool, 
and his eager inquiries landed him at Mrs. 
Bort’s abode. As it was, Mrs. Bort’s little 
servant bade him wait in the parlour, as her 
mistress was talking to a female in the 
kitchen. The little servant thought “ female ” 
the politest possible way of describing any 
person who was not a man, and accorded 


144 


MB. WITTB WIDOW. 


the title to Neaera on account of her rustling 
robes and gold-tipped parasol. 

George did not question his informant, 
thereby showing that he, in the role of detec- 
tive, was a square peg in a round hole. He 
heard proceeding from the kitchen a murmur 
of two subdued voices, one of which, how- 
ever, dominated the other. 

“That must be Mrs. Bort,” thought he. 
“ I wish I could hear the female.” 

Then his attention wandered, for he made 
sure the unknown could not be Neaera, as 
she had had a day’s start of him. He did 
not allow for Mrs. Bort’s washing. Suddenly 
the dominant voice was raised to the pitch 
of distinctness. 

“Have ye told him,” it said, “or have 
ye lied to him, as you lied to me 
yesterday ? ” 

“I didn’t — I didn’t,” was the answer. 
“ You never asked me if I was going to l)e 
married.” 

“ Oh, go along ! You know how I’d 
have answered that when ye lived with 
me.” 

“ How’s that ? ” asked George, with • 
slight smile. 


PRESENTING AN HONEST WOMAN. 145 


“ Have ye told him ? ” 

“Told him what?” asked Neaera, for it 
was clearly Neaera. 

“ Told him you’re a thief.” 

“ This woman’s a brute,” thought George. 
“ Have ye ? ” 

“ No, not exactly. How dare you question 

? » 

“ Dare ! ” said Mrs. Bort ; and George 
knew she was standing with her arms 
akimbo. “ Dare ! ” she repeated crescendo ; 
and apparently her aspect was threatening, 
for Neaera cried, 

“ Oh, I didn’t mean that. Do let me 
g °” 

“ Tell the truth, if your tongue’ll do it. 
The truth, will ye ? ” 

“ The deuce ! ” said George ; for, following 
on this last speech, he heard a sob. 

“ No, I haven’t. I — oh, do have mercy 

on me ! 

“ Mercy ! It’s not mercy, it’s a stick you 

want. But I’ll tell him.” 

“ Ah, stop, for Heaven’s sake ! ” 

There was a little scuffle ; then the door 
flew open, and Mrs. Bort appeared, with 
Neaera 'dinging helplessly about her knees. 
h 


MB. WITT' 8 WIDOW. 


U6 

George rose and bowed politely. 44 I’m 
afraid I intrude,” said be, 

44 That’s easy mended,” said Mrs. Bort. 
with significance. 

Neaera had leapt up on seeing him, and 
leant breathless against the door, looking 
like some helpless creature at bay. 

“ Who let you in ? ” demanded the lady 
of the house. 

44 Your servant.” 

44 I’ll let her in,” said Mrs. Bort, darkly. 
44 Who are ye ? ” 

George looked at Neaera. 44 My name is 
Neston,” he said blandly. 

44 Neston ? ” 

44 Certainly.” 

44 Then you’re in nice time ; I wanted you, 
young man. D’ye see that woman ? ” 

44 Certainly ; I see Mrs. Witt.” 

“D’ye know what she is? Time you 
did, if you’re a-going to take her to 
church.” 

Neaera started. 

44 1 hope to do so,” said George, smiling ; 
44 and I think I know all about her.” 

44 Do ye, now ? Happen ever to have 
hoard of Peckton ? " 


PRESENTING AN HONEST WOMAN. 147 

Neaera buried her face in her hands, and 
cried. 

“ Ah, pity you haven’t something to cry 
for ! Thought I’d see a sin done for ten 
pound a month, did ye ? ” 

George interposed ; he began to enjoy 
himself. “ Peckton ? Oh yes. The shoes, 
you mean ? ” 

Mrs. Bort gasped. 

“ A trifle,” said George, waving the shoes 
into limbo. 

“ Gracious 1 You ain’t in the same line, 
are you ? ” 

George shook his head. 

“ Anything else ? ” he asked, still smiling 
sweetly. 

“ Only a trifle of forging,” said Mrs. Bort. 
“ But p’raps she got her deserts from me over 
that.” 

“ Forging ? ” said George. “ Oh ah, yes. 
You mean about ” 

“ Her place at Bournemouth ? Ah, Nery, 
don’t you ache yet ? ” 

Apparently Neaera did. She shivered and 
moaned. 

“ But I’ve got it,” continued Nemesis ; and, 
she bounded across the room to a cupboard. 
“ There, read that.” 


148 


MB. WITT’S WIDOW. 


George took it calmly, but read it with 
secret eagerness. It was the original cha- 
racter, and stated that Miss Gale began her 
service in May, not March, 1883. 

“ I caught her a-copying it, and altering 
dates. My, how I did ” 

“ Dear, dear ! ” interrupted George. “ I 
was afraid it was something new. Anything 
else, Mrs. Bort ? ” 

Mrs. Bort was beaten. 

“ Go along,” she said. “ If you likes it, 
it’s nothing to me. But lock up your money- 
box.” 

“ Let me congratulate you, Mrs. Bort, on 
having done your duty.” 

“ I’m an honest woman,” said Mrs. Bort. 

“ Yes,” answered George, “ by the powers 
you are I ” Then, turning to Mrs. Witt, he 
added, “ Shall we go — Neaera dear?” 

“You’ll both of you die on the gallows,” 
said Mrs. Bort. 

“ Come, Neaera,” said George. 

She took his arm and they went out, 
George giving the little servant a handsome 
tip to recompense her for the prospect of 
being “ let in ” by her mistress. 

George's cab was at the door. He handed 


PRESENTING AN HONEST WOMAN. 149 

Neaera in. She was still half-crying and 
said nothing, except to tell him the name of 
her hotel. Then he raised his hat, and 
watched her driven away, wiping his brow 
with his handkerchief. 

“ Pheugh ! ” said he, “I’ve done it now— 
and what an infernal shame it is 1 ” 


ISO 


MB. WITT ‘3 WIDOW. 


CHAPTER XII. 

NOT BEFORE THOSE GIRLS ! 

It is a notorious fact that men of all ages 
and conditions quarrel, and quarrel some- 
times with violence. Women also, of a low 
social grade, are not strangers to discord, and 
the pen of satire has not spared the tiffs and 
wrangles that arise between elderly ladies of 
irreproachable positif n, and between young 
ladies of possibly not irreproachable morals. 
It is harder to believe, harder especially for 
young men whose beards are yet soft upon 
their chins, that graceful gentle girlhood 
quarrels too. Nobody would believe it, if 
there were not 'sisters in the world; but, 
unhappily, in spite of the natural tendency 
to suppose that all attributes distinctively 
earthy are confined to his own sisters, and 


NOT BEFORE THOSE GIRLS I 151 


have no place in the sisters of his friends, a 
man of reflection, checking his observations 
in the various methods suggested by logicians, 
is forced to conclude that here is another 
instance of the old truth, that a thing is not 
to be considered non-existent merely because 
it is not visible to a person who is not meant 
to see it. This much apology for the incident 
which follows is felt to be necessary in 
the interest of the narrator’s reputation for 
realism. 

The fact is that there had been what 
reporters call a “ scene ” at Mrs. Pockling- 
ton’s. It so fell out that Isabel Bourne, 
accompanied by Maud Neston, called on 
Laura to receive congratulations. Laura did 
her duty, felicitated her friend on Tommy in 
possession and Tommy’s title in reversion, 
and loyally suppressed her personal opinion 
on the part these two factors had respec- 
tively played in producing the announced 
result. Her forbearance was ill-requited ; 
for Maud, by way of clinching the matter 
and conclusively demonstrating the satis- 
factory position of affairs, must needs 
remark, “ And what a lesson it will be for 
George l ” 


JfJS. WITT8 WIDOW. 


lb% 

Laura said nothing. 

“ Oh, you mustn’t say that, dear,” objected 
Isabel. “ It’s really not right.” 

“ I shall say it,” said Maud ; it’s so exactly 
what he deserves, and I know he feels it 
himself.” 

“ Did he tell you so ? ” asked Laura, pausing 
in the act of pouring out tea. 

Maud laughed. 

“Hardly, dear. Besides, we are not on 
speaking terms. But Gerald and Mr. Myles 
both said so.” 

“ Gerald and Mr. Myles ! ” said Laura. 

“ Please, don’t talk about it,” interposed 
Isabel. “ What has happened made no 
difference.” 

“Why, Isabel, you couldn’t have him 
after ” 

“ No,” said Isabel ; “ but perhaps, Maud, 
I shouldn’t have had him before.” 

“ Of course you wouldn’t, dear. You saw 
his true character.” 

“ You never actually • refused him, did 
you ? ” inquired Laura. 

M No, not exactly.” 

** Then what did you say ? ” 

“ What did I say ? ” 


NOT BEFORE THOSE GIRLS / 153 


“ Yes, when he asked you, you know,” said 
Laura, with a little smile. 

Isabel looked at her suspiciously. “ He 
never did actually ask me,” she said, with 
dignity. 

“ Oh ! I thought you implied ” 

“ But, of course, she knew he wanted to,” 
Maud put in. “ Didn’t you, dear ? ” 

“ Well, I thought so,” said Isabel, modestly. 

“ Yes, I know you thought so,” said Laura. 
“Indeed, everybody saw that. Was it very 
hard to prevent him ? ” 

Isabel’s colour rose. “ I don’t know what 
you mean, Laura,” she said. 

Laura smiled with an unpleasantness that 
was quite a victory over nature. “ Men some- 
times fancy,” she remarked, “ that girls are 
rather in a hurry to think they want to 
propose.” 

“ Laura 1 ” exclaimed Maud. 

“ They even say that the wish is father to 
the thought,” continued Laura, still smiling, 
but now a little tremulously. 

Isabel grew more flushed. “ I don’t under- 
stand you. One would think you meant that 
I had run after him.” 

Laura remained silent. 


154 


MB. WITTS WIDOW. 


“ Everybody knows he was in love with 
Isabel for years,” said Maud, indignantly. 

“ He was very patient,” said Laura. 

Isabel rose. “ I shall not stay here to be 
insulted. It’s quite obvious, Laura, why you 
say such things.” 

“ I don’t say anything. Only n 

“Well?” 

“ The next time, you might mention that 
among the reasons why you refused Mr. 
Neston was, that he never asked you.” 

“ I see what it is,” said Isabel. “ Don’t 
you, Maud ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Maud. 

“ What is it ? ” demanded Laura. 

“ Oh, nothing. Only, I hope — I wish you 
joy of him.” 

“If you don’t mind a slanderer,” added 
Maud. 

“ It’s not true ! ” said Laura. “ How dare 
you say it ? ” 

“ Take care, dear, that he doesn’t fancy 

you’re in a hurry What was your 

phrase ? ” said Isabel. 

“ It’s perfectly shameful,” said Maud. 

“ I don’t choose to hear a friend run down 
for nothing,” declared Laura. 


NOT BEFORE THOSE GIRLS/ 


155 


“ A friend ? How very chivalrous you 
are ! Come, Maud dear.” 

“ Good-bye, Laura,” said Maud. “ I’m 
sure you’ll be sorry wben you come to 
think.” 

“No, I shan’t. I ” 

“ There ! ” said Isabel. “ I do not care to 
be insulted any more.” 

The two visitors swept out, and Laura was 
left alone. Whereupon she began to cry. 
“ I do hate that sort of vulgarity,” said she, 
mopping her eyes. “ I don’t believe he ever 
thought ” 

Mrs. Pocklington entered inurbane majesty. 
“Well, is Isabel pleased with her little 
man ? ” she asked. “ Why, child, what’s the 
matter ? ” 

“ Nothing,” said Laura. 

“ You’re crying.” 

“No, I’m not. Those girls have been 
horrid.” 

“ What about ? ” 

“ Oh, the engagement, and ” 

“ And what ? ” 

“ And poor Mr. Neston — George Neston.” 

“ Oh, poor George Neston. What did they 

say?” 


156 


MR. WITT'S WIDOW. 


“ Isabel pretended he had been in love with 
her, and — and was in love with her, and that 
she had refused him.” 

“ Oh, and that made you cry ? ” 

“ No — not that ” 

“ What, then ? ” 

“ Oh, please, mamma ! ” 

Mrs. Pocklington smiled. “ Stop crying, 
my dear. It used to suit me, but it doesn’t 
suit you. Stop, dear.” 

“Very well, mamma,” said poor Laura, 
thinking it a little hard that she might not 
even cry. 

“ Did you cry before the girls ? ” 

** No,” said Laura, with emphasis. 

“ Good child,” said Mrs. Pocklington. 
u Now, listen to me. You’re never to think 

of him again ” 

“ Mamma ! ” 

“ Till I tell you.” 

“Ah!” 


“ A tiresome, meddlesome fellow. Is your 
father in, Laura ? ” 

“Yes, dear. Are you going to see him 
about ?” 

“ Why, you’re as bad as Isabel ! ” said Mrs. 
Pocklington, with feigned severity, disen- 


NOT BEFORE THOSE GIRLS. 


157 


gaging Laura’s arms from her neck. “ He’s 
never asked you either ! ” 

“ No, dear ; but ” 

“The vanity of these children! There, 
let me go ; and for goodness’ sake, don’t be 
a cry-baby, Laura. Men hate water-bottles.” 

Thus mingling consolation and reproof, 
Mrs. Pocklington took her way to her 
husband’s study. 

“I want five minutes, Robert,” she said, 
sitting down. 

“ It’s worth a thousand pounds a minute, 
my dear,” said Mr. Pocklington, genially, lay- 
ing down his pipe and his papers. “ What 
with this strike ” 

“Strike!” said Mrs. Pocklington with 
indignation. “ Why do you let them strike, 
Robert ? ” 

“ I can’t help it. They want more 
money.” 

“Nonsense! They want to be taught 
their Catechisms. But I didn’t come to talk 
about that.” 

“I’m sorry you didn’t, my dear. Tour 
views are refreshing.” 

“ Robert, Laura’s got a fancy in her head 
about young George Neston.” 


158 


MR. WITT'S WIDOW. 


“Oh!” 

“ ‘ Oh ! ’ doesn’t tell me mnch.” 

“ Well, you knew all about him.” 

“ He’s a very excellent young man. Not 
rich.” 

“ A pauper ? ” 

“ No. Enough.” 

“ All right. If you’re satisfied, I am. But 
hasn’t he been making a fool of himself about 
some woman ? ” 

“ Really, Robert, how strangely you ex- 
press yourself 1 I suppose you mean about 
Neaera Witt ? ” 

“ Yes, that’s it.' I heard some rumour.” 

“ Heard some rumour ! Of course you 
read every word about it, and gossiped over 
it at the Club and the House. Now, haven’t 
you?” 

“ Perhaps I have,” her husband admitted. 
“ I think he’s a young fool.” 

“ Am I to consider it an obstacle ? ” 

“Well, what do you think yourself?” 

“ It’s your business. Men know about that 
sort of thing.” 

“ Is the child— eh ? ” 

“Yes, rather.” 

“And he?” 


NOT BEFORE THOSE QIBLBt 169 

“ Oh, yes, or will be very soon, when he 
sees she is.” 

« Poor little Lally ! ” said Mr. Pocklington. 
Then he sat and pondered. “It is an ob- 
stacle,” he said at last. 

“ Ah ! ” said his wife. 

“ He must put himself right.” 

“ Do you mean, prove what he says ? ” 

“Well, at any rate, show he had good 
excuse for saying it.” 

“I think it’s a little hard. But it’s for 
you to decide.” 

Mr. Pocklington nodded. 

“ Then, that’s settled,” said Mrs. Pock- 
lington. “It’s a great comfort, Bobert, to 
have a man who knows his mind on the 
premises.” 

“Be gentle with her,” said he, and re- 
turned to the strike. 

The other parties to the encounter over 
George’s merits had by a natural impulse 
taken themselves to Neaera Witt’s, with the 
Lope of being thanked for their holy zeal. 
They were disappointed, for, on arriving at 
Albert Mansions, they wer8 informed that 
Neaera, although returned from Liverpool, 
was not visible. “Mr. Neston has been 


160 


MR. WITT'S WIDOW. 


waiting over an hour to see her, miss,” said 
Neaera’s highly respectable handmaid, “but 
she won’t leave her room.” 

Gerald heard their voices, and came out. 

“ I can’t think what’s the matter,” he said. 

“ Oh, I suppose the journey has knocked 
her up,” suggested Isabel. 

“ Are you going to wait, Gerald ? ” asked 
Maud. 

“Well, no. The fact is, she sent me a 
message to go away.” 

“ Then come home with me,” said Isabel, 
“and we will try to console you.” Gerald 
would enjoy their tale quite as much as 
Neaera. 

Low spirits are excusable in persons who 
are camping on an active volcano, and 
Neaera felt that this was very much her 
position. At any moment she might be 
blown into space, her pleasant dreams shat- 
tered, her champions put to shame, and 
herself driven for ever from the only place 
in life she cared to occupy. Her abasement 
was pitiful, and her penitence, being born 
merely of defeat, offers no basis of edification. 
She had serious thoughts of running away ; 
for she did not think she could face Gerald’s 


NOT BEFORE THOSE GIRLS t 161 


wrath, or, worse still, his grief. He would 
cast her off, and society would cast her off, 
and those dreadftl papers would turn their 
thunders against her. She might nave con- 
soled herself for banishment from society 
with Gerald’s love, or, perhaps, for loss of 
his love with the triumphs of society ; but she 
would lose both, and have not a soul in the 
whole world to speak to except that hateful 
Mrs. Bort. So she sat and dolefully mused, 
with the tailless cat, that gift of a friendly 
gaoler at Peckton prison, purring on the rug 
before her, unconsciously persf unifying an 
irrevocable past anl a future emptied of 
delight. 


MB. WITTS WIDOW, 


162 


CHAPTER XIII. 

CONTAINING MORE THAN ONE ULTIMATUM. 

It was fortunate that Mr. Blodwell was not 
very busy on Saturday morning, or be might 
have resented the choice of his chambers for 
a council, and not been mollified by being 
asked to take part in the deliberations. At 
eleven o’clock in the morning, Gerald Neston 
arrived, accompanied by Sidmouth Yane and 
Mr. Lionel Fitzderham, who was, in the first 
place, Mrs. Pocklington’s brother, and, in the 
second place, chairman of the committee of 
the Themis Club. 

“We have come, sir,” said Gerald, “to ask 
you to use your influence with George. His 
conduct is past endurance.” 

“ Anything new ? ” asked Mi* Blodwell. 

“ No, that’s just it. This is Saturday. I’m 


CONTAINING MORE THAN ONE ULTIMATUM. 163 

to be married on Monday week ; and George 
does nothing.” 

“ What do yon want him to do ? ” 

“Why, to acknowledge himself wrong, as 
he can’t prove himself right.” 

Mr. Blodwell looked at Fitzderham. 

“ Yes,” said the latter. “ It can’t stay as 
it is. The lady must be cleared, if she can’t 
be proved guilty. We arrived clearly at that 
conclusion.” 

“We?” 

“ The committee of the Themis.” 

“ Oh, ah, yes. Arid you, Yane ? ” 

“I concur,” said Yane, briefly. “I’ve 
backed George up to now: but I agree he 
must do one thing or the other.” 

“ Well, gentlemen, I suppose you’re right. 
Only, if he won’t ? ” 

“Then we shall take action,” said Fitz- 
derham. 

“ So shall I,” said Gerald. 

Yane shrugged his shoulders. 

Mr. Blodwell rang the bell. 

“ Is Mr. George in, Timms ? ” he asked. 

“ Yes, sir ; just arrived.” 

“ Ask him to step in to me, if he will. I 
don’t see,” he continued, “ why you shouldn’t 


164 


MB. W1TTB WIDOW. 


settle it with him. IVe nothing to do with 
it, thank God.” 

George entered. He was surprised to 
see the deputation, but addressed himself 
exclusively to Blodwell. 

“ Here I am, sir. What is it ? ” 

“These gentlemen,” said Mr. Blodwell, 
“think that the time has come for you to 
withdraw your allegations or to prove 
them.” 

“You see, George,” said Yane, “it’s not 
fair to leave Mrs. Witt under this indefinite 
stigma.” 

“ Far from it,” said Fitzderham. 

George stood with his back against the 
mantel-piece. “ I quite agree,” he said. 
“ Let’s see — to-day’s Saturday. When is the 
wedding, if there ? ” 

“Monday week,” said Blodwell, hastily, 
fearing an explosion from Gerald. 

“ Very well. On Tuesday ” 

“A telegram for you, sir,” said Timms, 
entering. 

“ Excuse me,” said George. 

He opened and read his telegram. It ran, 
1 Yes— -my handwriting. Will return by 
next post registered — Horne, Bournemouth.’’ 


containing more tman one ultimatum. 165 

‘ On Monday,” continued George, “ at five 
o’clock in the afternoon, I will prove all I 
said, or withdraw it.” 

Gerald looked uneasy, but he tried to think, 
or at least to appear to think, that George’s 
delay was only to make his surrender less 
abrupt. 

“ Very well ! Shall we meet here ? ” 

“ No,” said Gerald. “ Mrs. Witt ought to 
be present.” 

“ Is that desirable ? ” asked George. 

“ Of course it is.” 

“As you please. 1 should say not. But 
ask her, and be guided by her wishes.” 

“Well, then, at Lord Tottlebury’s ? ” 
suggested Vane. 

“ By all means,” said George. And, with a 
slight nod, he left the room. 

“I hope,” said Mr. Blodwell, “that you 
have done well in forcing matters to an 
extremity.” 

“ Couldn’t help it,” said Vane, briefly. 

And the council broke up. 

Mrs. Horne’s telegram made George’s 
position complete. It was impossible for 
Neaera to struggli ■ against such evidence, 
and his triumph was assured from the moment 


166 


MR. WITTS WIDOW. 


•when he produced the original document 
and contrasted it with Neaera’s doctored 
copy. Besides, Mrs. Bort was in the back- 
ground, if necessary ; and although an impulse 
of pity had led him to shield Neaera at 
Liverpool, he was in no way debarred by that 
from summoning Mrs. Bort to his assistance 
if he wanted her. The Neston honour was 
safe, an impostor exposed, and the cause of 
morality, respectability, truth, and decency 
powerfully forwarded. Above all, George 
himself was enabled to rout his enemies, to 
bring a blush to the unblushing cheek of the 
Bull's-eye , and to meet his friends without 
feeling that perhaps they were ashamed to be 
seen talking to him. 

The delights of the last-mentioned prospect 
were so great, that George could not make up 
his mind to postpone them, and, in the after- 
noon, he set out to call on the Pocklingtons. 
There could be no harm in giving them at 
least a hint of the altered state of his fortunes, 
due, as it was in reality, to Mrs. Pockling- 
ton’s kindness in presenting him to Lord 
Mapledurham. It would certainly be very 
pleasant to prove to the Pocklingtons, espe- 
cially to Laura Pocklington, that they had 


CONTAINING MOBE THAN ONE ULTIMATUM. 167 

been justified in standing oy him, and that 
he was entitled, not to the good-natured 
tolerance accorded to honesty, but to the 
admiration due to success. 

In matters of love, at least, George Neston 
cannot be presented as an ideal hero. Heroes 
unite the discordant attributes of violence 
and constancy : George had displayed neither. 
Isabel Bourne had satisfied his judgment 
without stirring his blood. When she pre- 
sumed to be so ill-advised as to side against 
him, he resigned, without a pang, a prospect 
that had become almost a habit. Easily and 
insensibly the pretty image of Laura Pock- 
lington had filled the vacant space. As he 
wended his way to Mrs. Pocklington’s, he 
smiled to think that a month or two ago he 
had looked forward to a life spent with 
Isabel Bourne with acquiescence, though not, 
it is true, with rapture. Had the rapture 
existed before, it is sad to think that perhaps 
the smile would have been broader now ; 
foi love, when born in trepidation and nursed 
in joy, is often buried without lamentation 
and remembered with amusement — kindly, 
even tender amusement, but still amusement. 
An easy-going fancy like George’s for Isabel 


1S8 


MR. WITTS WIDOW 


cannot claim even the tribute of a tear behind 
the smile — a tear which, by its presence, 
causes yet another smile. George was not 
even grateful to Isabel for a pleasant dream 
and a gentle awakening. She was gone ; 
and, what is more, she ought never to have 
come : and there was an end of it. 

George, having buried Isabel, rang the hell 
with a composed mind. He might ask Laura 
Pocklington to marry him to-day, or he 
might not. He would be guided by circum- 
stances in that matter : but at any rate he 
would ask her, and that soon ; for she was the 
only girl he could ever be happy with, and, if 
he dawdled, his chance might be gone. Of 
course there was a crowd of suitors at her 
feet, and, although George had no unduly 
modest view of his own claims, he felt it 
behoved him to be up and doing. It is true 
that the crowd of suitors was not very much 
in evidence, but who could doubt its existence 
without questioning the sanity and eyesight 
of mankind ? 

As it so chanced, however, George did not 
see Laura. He saw Mrs. Pocklington, and 
that lady at once led the conversation to the 
insistent topic of Neaera Witt. George could 


CONTAINING MORE THAN ONE ULTIMATUM. 169 

not help letting fall a hint of his approaching 
victorj. 

“ Poor woman ! ” said Mrs. Pocklington. 
“ But, for your sake, I’m very glad.” 

“ Yes, it gets me out of an awkward posi- 
tion.” 

“ Just what my husband said. He thought 
that you were absolutely bound to prove 
what you said, or at least to give a good 
excuse for it.” 

“ Absolutely bound ? ” 

“-Well, I mean if you were to keep your 
place in society.” 

“ And in your house ? ” 

“ Oh, he did not go so far as that. Every- 
body comes to my house.” 

“Yes; but, Mrs. Pocklington, I don’t 
want to come in the capacity of ‘every- 
body.’ ” 

“ Then, I think he did mean that you must 
do what I say, before you went on coming in 
any other capacity.” 

George looked at Mrs. Pocklington. Mrs. 
Pocklington smiled diplomatically. 

“ Is Miss Pocklington out ? ” asked George. 

“ Yes,” sat! Mrs. Pocklington, “ she is 
out.” 


170 


MR. WITT'B WIDOW. 


h : 

I 

“Not back soon?” asked George, smiling 
in his turn. 

“ Not jet.” 

“ Not until ? ” 

“ "Well, Mr. Neston, I dare say you know 
what I mean.” 

“ I think so. Fortunately, there is no 
difficulty. Shall we say Tuesday ? ” 

“ When Tuesday comes, we will see if wo 
say Tuesday.” 

“ And, otherwise, I am ? ” 

“Otherwise, my dear George, you have 
no one to persuade except ” 

“ Ah, that is the most difficult task of 
all.” 

“ I don’t know anything about that. 
Only I hope you believe what you say. 
Young men are so conceited nowadays.” 

“ When Miss Pocklington comes in, you 
will tell her how sorry I was not to see 
her?” 

“ Certainly.” 

“ And that I look forward to Tuesday ? ” 

“ No ; I shall say nothing about that. 
You are not out of the wood yet.” 

“ Oh yes, I am.” 

But Mrs. Pocklington stood firm; and 


CONTAINING MOBS THAN ONE ULTIMATUM. 171 

Q-eorge departed, feeling that the last possi- 
bility of mercy for Neaera Witt had vanished. 
There is a limit to unselfishness ; nay, what 
place is there for pity when public duty and 
private interest unite in demanding just 
severity t 


m 


MB. Wlirtt WIDOW. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

ebaeba’s last card. 

Neaera Witt had one last card to play. 
Alas, how great the s'., dee, and how slight 
the chance ! Still she would play it. If it 
failed, she would only drink a little deeper 
of humiliation, and be trampled a little more 
contemptuously under foot. What did that 
matter ? 

“ You will not condemn a woman un- 
heard,” she wrote, with a touch of melo- 
drama. “ I expect you here on Sunday 
evening at nine. You cannot be so hard as 
not to come.” 

George had written that he would come, 
but that his determination was unchangeable. 
w I must com!®, as you ask me,” he said : 


KEAEBA’8 LAST CARD. 


178 


“but it is useless — worse than useless.” Still 
he would come. 

Bill Sykes likes to be tried in a black 
coat, and draggle-tailed Sal smooths her 
tangled locks before she enters the dock. 
Who can doubt, though it be not recorded, 
that the burghers of Calais, cruelly restricted 
to their shirts, donned their finest linen to 
face King Edward and his Queen, or that 
the Inquisitors were privileged to behold 
many a robe born to triumph on a different 
stage ? And so Neaera Witt adorned herself 
to meet George Neston with subtle sim- 
plicity. Her own ill-chastened taste, fed 
upon popular engravings, hankered after 
black velvet, plainly made in clinging folds ; 
but she fancied that the motive would be 
too obvious for an eye so ruse as George’s, 
and reluctantly surrendered her picture of 
a second Queen of Scots. White would be 
better; white could cling as well as black, 
and would so mingle suggestions of remorse 
and innocence that surely he could not he 
hard-hearted enough to draw the distinction. 
A knot of flowers, destined to be plucked 
to pieces by agitated hands — so much con- 
ventional emotion she could not deny herself, 


174 


MB. WITT'S WIDOW. 


— a dress cut low, and open sleeves made 
to fall back when the white arms were up- 
stretched for pity, — all this should make a 
combined assault on George’s higher nature 
and on his lower. Neaera thought that, if 
only she had been granted time and money 
to dress properly, she might never have seen 
the inside of Peckton gaol at all; for even 
lawyers are human, or, if that be disputed, 
let us say not superhuman. 

George came in with all the awkwardness 
of an Englishman who hates a scene and 
feels himself a fool for his awkwardness. 
Neaera motioned him to a chair, and they 
sat silent for a moment. 

“ You sent for me, Mrs. Witt ? ” 

“Yes,” said Neaera, looking at the fire. 
Then, with a sudden turn of her eyes upon 
him, she added, “ It was only — to thank 
you.” 

“I’m afraid you have little enough to 
thank me for.” 

“ Yes ; your kindness at Liverpool.” 

“ Oh, it seemed the best way out. I hope 
you pardon the liberty I took ? ” 

“ And for an earlier kindness of yours.” 

“ I really ” 


NEAERA'S LAST CARD. 


175 


“Yes, yes. When they gave me that 
money you sent, I cried. I could not cry 
in prison, hut I cried then. It was the first 
time any one had ever been kind to me.” 

George was embarrassed. He had an 
uneasy feeling that the sentiment was trite ; 
but, then, many of the saddest things are the 
tritest. 

“ It is good of you,” he said, stumbling in 
his words, “to remember it, in face of all 
I have done against you.” 

“ You pitied me then.” 

“ With all my heart.” 

“ How did I do it ? How did I ? I wish 
I had starved; and seen my father starve 
first ! ” 

George wondered whether it was food that 
the late Mr. Gale so urgently needed. 

“ But I did it. I was a thief ; and once a 
thief, always a thief.” And Neaera smiled 
a sad smile. 

“You must not suppose,” he said, as he 
had once before, “ that I do not make 
allowances.” 

“ Allowances ? ” she cried, starting up. 
“ Allowances — always allowances ! never 
pity ! never mercy ! never forgetfulness ! ” 


176 


mr. wirra widow . ; 


“You did not ask for mercy,” said George, 

** No, I didn’t. I know what you mean— 
I lied.” 

“ Yes, you lied, if you choose that word 
You garbled documents, and, when the truth 
was told, you called it slander.” 

Neaera had sunk back in her seat again. 
“Yes,” she moaned. “I couldn’t let it all 
go — I couldn’t ! ” 

“ You yourself have made pity impossible.” 

“ Oh no, not impossible 1 I loved him so, 
and he — he was so trustful.” 

“ The more reason for not deceiving him,” 
said George, grimly. 

“What is it, after all?” she exclaimed, 
changing her tone. “ What is it, I say ? ” 

“Well, if you ask me, Mrs. Witt, it’s an 
awkward record.” 

“ An awkward record ! Yes, but for a man 
in love ? ” 

“That’s Gerald’s look-out. He can do as 
he pleases.” 

“What, after you have put me to open 
shame? And for what? Because I loved 
my father most, and loved my — the man who 
loved me — most ! ” George shook his head. 

“ If you were in love — in love, I say, with 


NEAEBA’S LAST OABD. 


177 


a girl — yes, if you were in love with me, 
would this thing stop you ? ” And she stood 
before him proudly and scornfully. 

George looked at her. “I don’t think it 
would,” he said. 

“ Then,” she asked, advancing a step, and 
stretching out her clasped hands, “ why ask 
more for another than for yourself?” 

“ Gerald will be the head of the family, to 
begin with ” 

“ The family ? ” 

“ Certainly ; the Neston family.” 

“Who are they? Are they famous? I 
never heard of them till the other day.” 

“I daresay not; we moved in rather 
different circles.” 

“ Do you take pleasure in being brutal ? ” 

“I take pleasure in nothing connected 
with this confounded affair,” said George, 
impatiently. 

“ Then why not drop it ? ” 

George shook his head. 

“ Too late,” he said. 

“ It’s mere selfishness. You are only 
thinking of what people will say of you.” 

“ I have a right to consider that.” 

w It’s mean — mean and heartless 1 ” 


V 


178 


MR. WITT’S WIDOW. 


George rose. “Really, it’s no use going 
on with this,” said he. And, making a slight 
bow, he turned towards the door. 

“ I didn’t mean it — I didn’t mean it,” cried 
Neaera. “ But I am out of my mind. Ah, 
have pity on me ! ” And she flung herself 
on the floor, right in his path. 

George felt very absurd. He stood, his 
hat in one hand, his stick and gloves in the 
other, while Neaera clasped his legs below 
the knee, and, he feared, was about to bedew 
his boots with her tears. 

“ This is tragedy, I suppose,” he thought. 
“ How the devil am I to get away ? ” 

“ I have never had a chance,” Neaera went 
on, “ never. Ah, it is hard 1 And when at 

last ” Her voice choked, and George, 

to his horror, heard her sob. 

He nervously shifted his feet about, as well 
as Neaera’s eager clutches would allow him. 
How he wished he had not come ! 

“ I cannot bear it ! ” she cried. “ They will 
all write about me, and jeer at me; and 
Gerald will cast me off. Where shall I 
hide? — where shall I hide? What was it 
to you ? ” 

Then she was silent, but George heard her 


NEAERA'8 LAST CARD. 


179 


stifled weeping. Her clasp relaxed, and she 
fell forward, with her face on the floor, in 
front of him. He did not seize his chance of 
escape. 

“ London is uninhabitable to me, if I do as 
you ask,” he said. 

She looked up, the tears escaping from her 
eyes. 

“ Ah, and the world to me, if you 
don’t!” 

G-eorge sat down in an arm-chair ; he 
abandoned the hope of running away. Neaera 
rose, pushed back her hair from her face, and 
fixed her eyes eagerly on him. He looked 
down for an instant, and she shot a hasty 
glance at the mirror, and then concentrated 
her gaze on him again, a little anxious smile 
coming to her lips. 

“ You will ? ” she asked in a whisper. 

George petulantly threw his gloves on a 
table near him. Neaera advanced, and knelt 
down beside him, laying her hand on his 
shoulder. 

“ You have made me cry so much,” she 
said. “ See, my eyes are dim. You won’t 
make me cry any more ? ” 

George looked at the bright eyes, half 


180 


MR. WITT'B WIDOW 


veiled in tears, and the mouth trembling on 
the brink of fresh weeping. And the eyes 
and mouth were very good. 

“ It is Gerald,” she said ; “ he is so strict. 
And the shame, the shame ! ” 

“ You don’t know what it means to 
me.” 

“ I do indeed : I know it is hard. But 
you are generous. No, no/ don’t turn your 
face away ! ” 

George still sat silent. Neaera took his 
hand in hers. 

“ Ah, do ! ” she said. 

George smiled, — at himself, not at Neaera. 

“Well, don’t cry any more,” said he, “or 
the eyes will be red as well as dim.” 

“ You will, you will ? ” she whispered 
eagerly. 

He nodded. 

“ Ah, you are good ! God bless you, 
George : you are good ! ” 

“ No. I am only weak.” 

Neaera swiftly bent and kissed his hand, 
“ The hand that gives me life,” she said. 

“ Nonsense,” said George, rather roughly. 

“ Will you clear me altogether? ” 

u Oh yes ; everything or nothing.” 


EEAERA’S LAST OARD. 


181 


“ Will you give me that — that character?” 

“ Yes.” 

She seized his reluctant hand, and kissed it 
again. 

“ I have your word ? ” 

“ You have.” 

She leapt up, suddenly radiant. 

“ Ah, G-eorge, Cousin George, how I love 
you ! Where is it ? ” 

George took the document out of his 
pocket. 

Neaera seized it. “Light a candle,” she 
cried. 

George with an amused smile obeyed her. 

“ You hold the candle, and I will bum 
it ! ” And she watched the paper consumed 
with the look of a gleeful child. Then she 
suddenly stretched her arms. “ Oh, I am 
tired!” 

“ Poor child ! ” said George. “ You can 
leave it to me now.” 

“ However shall I repay you ? I never 
can.” Then she suddenly saw the cat, ran 
to him, and picked him up. “We are for- 
given, Bob ! we are forgiven ! ” she cried, 
dancing about the room. 

George watched her with amusement. 


182 


MB. WITT’S WIDOW. 


She put the cat down and came to him. 
“ See, you have made me happy. Ia that 
enough ? ” 

“ It is something,” said he. 

“ And here is something more ! ” And 
she threw her arms round his neck, and 
kissed him. 

“ That’s better,” said George. “ Any 
more?” 

“ Not till we are cousins.” 

“ Be gentle in your triumph.” 

“ No, no ; don’t talk like that Are you 
going? ” 

“ Yes. I must go and put things straight” 

“ Good-bye. I — I hope you won’t find it 
very hard.” 

“ I have been paid in advance.” 

Neaera blushed a little. 

“ You shall be better paid, if ever I can,” 
she said. 

George paused oujside, to light a cigarette ; 
then he struck into the park, and walked 
slowly along, meditating as he went. When 
he arrived at Hyde Park Corner, he roused 
himself from his reverie. 

“ Now the woman was very fair ! ” said he, 
as he hailed a hansom. 


( 183 ) 


CHAPTEE XV. 

A LETTER FOR MR. GERALD. 

Mrs. Pocklington sat with blank amazement 
in her face, and a copy of the second edition 
of the BulVs-eye in her hand. On the middle 
page, in type widely spaced, beneath a noble 
headline, appeared a letter from George 
Neston, running thus : — 

“ To the Editor of the Bull's-eye. 

“ Sir, 

“As you have been good enough 
to interest yourself, and, I hope, fortunate 
enough to interest your readers, in the sub- 
ject of certain allegations made by me in 
respect of a lady whose name has been men- 
tioned in your columns, I have the honour to 
inform you that such allegations were entirely 
baseless, the result of a chance resemblance 


184 


MB. WITT’S WIDOW. 


between that lady and another person, and of 
my own hasty conclusions drawn therefrom. 
I have withdrawn all my assertions, fully and 
unreservedly, and have addressed apologies 
for them to those who had a right to receive 
apologies. 

“ I have the honour to be, sir, 

“ Your obedient servant, 

“ George Nestor.” 

And then a column of exultation, satire, 
ridicule, preaching, praying, prophesying, 
moralising, and what not. The pen flew 
with wings of joy, and ink was nothing 
regarded on that day. 

Mrs. Pocklington was a kind - hearted 
woman; yet, when she read a sister’s vin- 
dication, she found nothing better to say 
than — 

“ How very provoking ! ” 

And it may be that this unregenerate 
exclamation fairly summed up public feel- 
ing, if only public feeling had been indecent 
enough 'to show itself openly. A man shown 
to be a fool is altogether too common a 
spectacle ; a woman of fashion proved a 
thief would have been a more piquant dish. 


A LETTER FOR MR. GERALD. 


185 


But in tin’s world — and, indeed, probably in 
any other — we must take what we can get ; 
and since society could not trample on 
Neaera Witt, it consoled itself by correct 
ing and chastening the misguided spirit of 
George Neston. Tommy Myles shook his 
empty little head, and all the other empty 
heads shftok solemnly in time. Isabel Bourne 
6aid she knew she was right, and Sidmouth 
Yane thought there must be something be- 
hind — he always did, as became a statesman 
in the raw. Mr. Espion re-echoed his own 
leaders, like a phonograph; and the chair- 
man of the Themis thanked Heaven they 
were out of an awkward job. 

But wrath and fury raged in the breast 
of Laura Pocklington. She thought George 
had made a fool of her. He had persuaded 
her to come over to his side, and had then 
betrayed the colours. There would be joy 
in Gath and Askelon; or, in other words, 
Isabel Bourne and Maud Neston would crow 
over her insupportably. 

“I will never see him or speak to him 
again, mamma,” Laura declared, passionately. 
u He has behaved abominably ! ” 

This announcement rather took the wind 


186 


'MR. WITT'S WIDOW. 


out of Mrs. Pocklington’s sails. She was 
just preparing to bear majestically down 
upon her daughter with a stern ultimatum 
to the effect that, for the present, George 
must be kept at a distance, and daughters 
must be guided by their mothers. At 
certain moments nothing is more annoying 
than to meet with agreement, when one in- 
tends to extort submission. 

“ Good gracious, Laura ! ” said Mrs. Pock- 
lington, “ you can’t care much for the 
man.” 

“ Care for him ! I detest him ! ” 

“ My dear, it hardly looked like it." 

“You must allow me some self-respect, 
mamma.” 

Mr. Pocklington, entering, overheard these 
words. “Hallo!” said he. “What’s the 
matter ? ” 

“ Why, my dear, Laura declares that 
she will have nothing to say to George 
Neston.” 

“ Well, that’s just your own view, isn’t 
it ? ” A silence ensued. “ It seems to me 
you are agreed.” 

It really did lo:>k like it ; but they had 
been on the verge of a pretty quarrel all 


A LETTER FOB MR. GERALD. 187 


the same: and Mr. Pocklington was con- 
firmed in the opinion he had lately begun 
to entertain that, when paradoxes of mental 
process are in question, there is in truth 
not much to choose between wives and 
daughters. 

Meanwhile, George Neston was steadily 
and unflinchingly devouring his humble-pie. 
He sought and obtained Gerald’s forgive- 
ness, after half an hour of grovelling abase- 
ment. He listened to Tommy Myles’s grave 
rebuke and Sidmouth Yane’s cynical raillery 
without a smile or a tear. He even brought 
himself to accept with docility a letter full 
of Christian feeling which Isabel Bourne was 
moved to write. 

All these things, in fact, affected him 
little in comparison with the great question 
of his relations with the Pocklingtons. That, 
be felt, must be settled at once, and, with 
his white sheet yet round him and his taper 
still in his hand, he went to call on Mrs. 
Pocklington. 

He found that Lady in an attitude of aggres- 
sive tranquillity With careful ostentation 
she washed her hands of the whole affair. 
Left to her own way, she might have been 


188 


MR. WITT'B WIDOW. 


inclined to consider that George’s foolish 
recklessness had been atoned for by his 
manly retractation — or, on the other hand, 
she might not. It mattered very little 
which would have been the case; and, if 
it comforted him, he was at liberty to sup- 
pose that she would have embraced the 
former opinion. The decision did not lie 
with her. Let him ask Laura and Laura’s 
father. They had made up their minds, 
and it was not in her province or power 
to try to change their minds for them. In 
fact, Mrs. Pocklington took up the position 
which Mr. Spenlow has made famous — only 
she had two partners where Mr. Spenlow 
had but one. George had a shrewd idea 
that her neutrality covered a favourable 
inclination towards himself, and thanked her 
warmly for not ranking herself among his 
enemies. 

“ I am even emboldened,” he said, “ to ask 
your advice how I can best overcome Miss 
Pocklington’s adverse opinion.” 

“Laura thinks you have made her look 
foolish. You see, she took your cause up 
rather warmly.” 

“ I know. She was most generous.” 


A LETTER FOR MR. GERALD. 189 

“ You were so very confident.” 

“ Yes ; but one little thing at the end 
tripped me up. I couldn’t have foreseen it. 
Mrs. Pocklington, do you think she will be 
very obdurate ? ” 

“ Oh, I’ve nothing to do with it. Don’t 
ask me.” 

“ I wish I could rely on your influence.” 

“ I haven’t any influence,” declared Mrs. 
Pocklington. “ She’s as obstinate as a — as 
resolute as her father.” 

George rose to go. He was rather dis- 
heartened ; the price he had to pay for 
the luxury of generosity seemed very 
high. 

Mrs. Pocklington was moved to pity. 
“ George,” she said, “ I feel like a traitor, 
but I will give you one little bit of 
advice.” 

“ Ah ! ” cried George, his face brightening. 
“ What is it, my dear Mrs. Pocklington ? ” 

“ As to my husband, I say nothing ; but 

as to Laura ” 

“ Yes, yes ! ” 

“ Let her alone — absolutely.” 

“Let her alone I But that’s giving it 

up.” 


190 


MB. WITT* 8 WIDOW. 


“ Don’t call, don’t write, don’t be known 
to speak of her. There, I’ve done what I 
oughtn’t ; hut you’re an old friend of mine, 
George.” 

“ But I say, Mrs. Pocklington, won’t some 
other fellow seize the chance ? ” 

“If she likes you best, what does that 

matter? If she doesn’t ” And Mrs. 

Pocklington shrugged her shoulders. 

George was convinced by this logic. “I 
will try,” he said. 

“ Try?” 

“Yes, try to let her alone. But it’s 
difficult.” 

“ Stuff and nonsense. Laura isn’t indis- 
pensable.” 

“ I know those are not your real views.” 

“You’re not her mother; for which you 
may thank Heaven.” 

“ I do,” said George, and took his leave, 
rather consoled. He would have been even 
more cheerful had he known that Laura’s 
door was ajar, and Laura was listening 
for the bang of the hall door. When 
she heard it, she went down to her 
mother. 

“ Who was your visitor, mamma ? ” 


A LETTER FOR MR. GERALD. 191 


** Oh, George Neston.” 

“ What did he come about ? ” 

“ Well, my dear, to see me, I suppose.” 

“ And what did he find to say for him* 
self?” 

“ Oh, we hardly talked about that affair 
at all. However, he seems in very good 
spirits.” 

“ I’m sure he has no business to be.” 

“ Perhaps not, my dear ; but he was.” 

“ I didn’t know it was Mr. Neston. I’m 
so glad I didn’t come down.” 

Mrs. Pocklington went on knitting. 

“ I expect he knew why.” 

Mrs. Pocklington counted three pearl and 
three plain. 

“Did he say anything about it, mamma ? ” 

“ One, two, three. About what, dear ? ” 

“ Why, about — about my not coming ? ” 

“ No. I suppose he thought you were 
out.” 

“ Did you tell him so ? ” 

“ He didn’t ask, my dear. He has other 
things to think about than being attentive 
to young women.” 

“It’s very lucky he has,” said Laura, 
haughtily. 


192 


MR. WITT’S WIDOW. 


“ My dear, he lets you alone. Why can’t 
you let him alona ? ” 

Laura took up a book, and Mrs. Pocklington 
counted her stitches in a brisk and cheerful 
tone. 

It will be seen that George had a good 
friend in Mrs. Pocklington. In truth he 
needed some kindly countenance, for society 
at large had gone mad in praise of Neaera 
and Gerald. They were the fashion. Every- 
body tried to talk to them; everybody was 
coming to the wedding; everybody raved 
about Neaera’s sweet patience and Gerald’s 
unwavering faith. When Neaera drove her 
lover round the park in her victoria, their 
journey was a triumphal progress ; and only 
the burden of preparing for the wedding 
prevented the pair being honoured guests at 
every select gathering. Gerald walked on 
air. His open hopes were realised, his secret 
feaie laid to rest ; while Neaera’s exaggerated 
excises for George betrayed to his eyes 
nothing but the exceeding sweetness of her 
disposition. Her absolute innocence ex- 
plained and justified her utter absence of 
resentment, and must, Gerald felt, add 
fresh pangs to George’s remorse and shame. 


A LETTER TOR MR. GERALD. 193 

These pangs Gerald did not feel it his duty 
to mitigate. 

Thursday came, and Monday was the 
wedding-day. The atmosphere was thick 
with new clothes, cards of invitation, 
presents, and congratulations. A thorny 
question had arisen as to whether Q-eorge 
should be invited. Neaera’s decision was in 
his favour, and Gerald himself had written 
the note, hoping all the while that his 
cousin’s own good sense would keep him 
away. 

“It would be hardly decent in him to 
come,” he said to his father. 

“I daresay he will make some excuse,” 
answered Lord Tottlebury. “ But I hope 
you won’t keep up the quarrel.” 

“Keep up the quarrel ! By Jove, father, 
I’m too happy to quarrel.” 

“Gerald,” said Maud Neston, entering, 
“here’s such a funny letter for you! I 
wonder it ever reached.” 

She held out a dirty envelope, and read 
the address — 

“ Mr. Nesston, Esq., 

“ His Lordship Tottilberry , 

“London.” 


e 


194 


MR. WITT'S WliOW. 


“Who in the world is it?” asked Maud, 
laughing. 

Gerald had no secrets. 

“I don’t know,” said he. “Give it me, 
and we’ll see.” He opened the letter. The 
first thing he came upon was a piece of tissue 
paper neatly folded. Opening it, he found 
it to be a ten-pound note. “Hullo! is 
this a wedding present?” said he with a 
laugh. 

“ Ten pounds ! How funny ! ” exclaimed 
Maud. “ Is there no letter ? ” 

“ Yes, here’s a letter ! ” And Gerald read 
it to himself. 

The letter ran as follows, saving certain 
eccentricities of spelling which need not be 
reproduced : — 


“Sir, 

“I don’t rightly know whether this 
here is your money or Nery’s. Nor I 
don’t know where it comes from , after 
what you said when you was here with 
her Friday. I can work for my living, 
thanks be to Him to whom thanks is 
due, and 1 don’t put money in my pocket 


A LETTER FOR MR. GERALD . 191 

as I don’t know whose pocket it come 

out of. 

“ Tour humble servant, 

“ Susan Bort.” 

“ Susan Bort ! ” exclaimed Gerald. “ Now, 
who the deuce is Susan Bort, and what the 
dexice does she mean ? ” 

“ Unless you tell us what she says ” 

began Lord Tottlebury. 

Gerald read the letter again, with a grow- 
ing feeling of uneasiness. He noticed that 
the postmark was Liverpool. It so chanced 
that he had not been to Liverpool for more 
than a year. And who was Susan Bort ? 

He got up, and, making an apology for 
not reading out his letter, went to his own 
room to consider the matter. 

“ ‘ Nery ? ’ ” said he. “ And if I wasn’t 
there, who was ? ” 

It was generous of George Neston to shield 
Neaera at Liverpool. It was also generous 
of Neaera to send Mrs. Bort ten pounds 
immediately after thit lady had treated her 
so cruelly. It was honest of Mrs. Bort to 
refuse to accept money which she thought 
might he tli e proceeds of burglary. To these 


196 


MR. WITT’S WIDOW. 


commendable actions Gerald was indebted 
for the communication which disturbed his 
bliss. 

“ I wonder if Neaera can throw any light 
on it,” said Gerald. “ It’s very queer. After 
lunch, I’ll go and see her.” 


i ) 


CHAPTER XVI. 

THERE IS AN EXPLOSION. 

Mr. Blodwell was entertaining Lord Maple- 
durham at luncheon at the Themis Club. 
The Marquis was not in an agreeable mood. 
He was ill, and when he was ill he was 
apt to be cross. His host’s calm satisfaction 
with the issue f the Neston affair irritated 
him. 

“ Really, Blodwell,” he said, “ I sometimes 
think a lawyer’s wig is like Samson’s hair. 
When he takes it off, he takes off all his 
wits with it. Your simplicity is positively 
childish.” 

Mr. Blodwell gurgled contentedly over 
a basin of soup. 

“I think no evil unless I’m paid for it,” 
he said, wiping his mouth. “ George found 
he was wrong, and said so.” 


198 


MS. WITT’S WIDOW. 


“ I saw the girl in the Park yesterday,” 
the Marquis remarked. “ She’s a pretty 
girl.” 

“ Uncommonly. But I’m not aware that 
being pretty makes a girl a thief. ” 

“ No, but it makes a man a fool.” 

“ My dear Mapledurham ! ” 

“ Did he ever tell you what he found out 
at Liverpool ? ” 

“ Did he go to Liverpool ? ” 

“Did he go? God bless the man! Of 

course he went, to look for ” 

Lord Mapledurham stopped, to see who 
was throwing a shadow over his plate. 

“ May I join you ? ” asked Sidmouth Yane, 
who thought he was conferring a privilege. 
‘‘ I’m interested in what you are discussing.” 

« Oh, it’s you, is it ? Have you been 
listening ? ” 

“ No, but everybody’s discussing it. Now, 
I agree with you, Lord Mapledurham. It’s 
a put-up job.” 

“ I expect you thought it was a put-up job 
when they bapt.sed you, didn’t you?” in- 
quired the Marquis. 

“ And looked fo? poison in your bottle ? ” 
added Blodwell. 


THEBE 18 AH EXPLOSION. 


199 




Yano gently waved his hand, as if to 
scatter these clumsy sarcasms. “A man 
may not be sixty and yet not be an ass,” he 
languidly observed. “ Waiter, some salmon, 
and a pint of 44.” 

“ And may be sixty and yet be an ass, 
eh ? ” said the Marquis, chuckling. 

“Among ourselves, why do you suppose 
he let her off ? ” asked Yane. 

The Marquis pushed back his chair. “ My 
young friend, you are too wise. Something 
will happen to you.” 

“ Hallo 1 ” exclaimed Yane, “ here’s Gerald 
Neston.” 

Gerald came hastily up to Mr. Blodwell. 
“ Do you know where George is ? ” he asked. 

“I believe he’s in the club somewhere,” 
answered Mr. Blodwell. 

“No, he isn’t. I want to see him on 
business.” 

Lord Mapledurham rose. “ I know your 
father, Mr. Neston,” he said. “ You must 
allow me to shake hands with you, and con- 
gratulate you on your approaching marriage.” 

Gerald received his congratulations with 
an absent air. “ I must go and find George,” 
be said, and went out. 


200 


MM. WITT '8 WIDOW. 


“ There ! ” said Yane, triumphantly. “ Don’t 
yon see there’s something np now ? ” 

The elder men tried to snub him, but they 
glanced at one another and silently admitted 
that it looked as if he were right. 

Mrs. Bort’s letter had stirred into activity 
all the doubts that Gerald Neston had tried 
to stifle, and had at last succeeded in silen- 
cing. There was a darkly mysterious tone 
about the document that roused his suspicions. 
Either there was a new and a more unscru- 
pulous plot against his bride, or else 

Gerald did not finish his train of thought, 
but he determined to see Neaera at once, as 
George could not be found without a journey 
to the Temple, and a journey to the Temple 
was twice as far as a journey to Albert 
Mansions. Nevertheless, had Gerald known 
what was happening at the Temple, he would 
have gone there first ; for in George’s cham- 
bers, at that very moment, George was sitting 
in his chair, gazing blankly at Neaera 
Witt, who was walking restlessly up and 
down. 

“You sent her ten pounds?” he gasped. 

“ Yes, yes,” said Neaera. “ I can’t let the 
creature starve.” 


THERE IB AN EXPLOSION. 


201 


“But why in the world did j»Le send it 
back to Gerald ? ” 

“ Oh, can’t you see ? Why, you said you 
were Gerald ; at least, it came to that.” 

“ And she meant to send it to me ? ” 

“ Yes, but I had told her my Mr. Neston 
was Lord Tottlebury’s son ; so I suppose the 
letter has gone to Gerald. It must have, if 
you haven’t got it.” 

“ But why should she send it to either of 
us?” 

“Oh, because I said I sent it with Mr. 
Neston’s approval.” 

“ That wasn’t true.” 

“ Of course not. But it sounded better. 

“ Ah, it’s dangerous work.” 

“ I should never have done it, if I had 
foreseen this.” 

George knew that this represented Neaera’s 
extreme achievement in penitence, and did 
not press the question. 

“What a wretch the woman is!’’ Neaera 
continued. “ Oh, what is to be done ? Gerald 
is sure to ask for an explanation.” 

“ Quite possible, I should think.” 

“ Well, then, I am lost.” 

“ You’d better tell him all about it.” 


202 


MB. WIIT'8 WIDOW. 


“ I can’t ; indeed I can’t. You won’t, wiE 
you ? Oh, you will stand by me ? ” 

“I don’t know what Mrs. Bort has said, 
and so ” 

He was interrupted by a knock at the door. 
George rose and opened it. “What is it, 
Timms ? ” 

“Mr. Gerald, sir, wants to see you on 
important business.” 

“ Is he in his room?” 

“ Yes, sir. I told him you were engaged.” 

“ You didn’t tell him Mrs. Witt was here ? ” 

“ No, sir.” 

“ Say I’ll be with him in a few minutes.” 

George shut the door, and said, “ Gerald’s 
here, and wants to see me.” 

“ Gerald ! Then he has got the letter ! ” 

“ What do you propose to do, Mrs. Witt ? ” 

“ How can I tell ? I don’t know what she 
said. She only told me she had sent back 
the money, and told him why.” 

“ If she told him why ” 

“I’m ruined,” said Neaera, wringing her 
hands. 

George stood with his back to the fire- 
place, and regarded her critically. After a 
moment’’ s pause, he safd s with a smile, 


THERE 13 AN EXPLOSION. 


203 


“ I knew it all — and you were not ruined.” 

“ Ah, you are so good ! ” 

“ Nonsense,” said George, with a broader 
smile. 

Neaera looked up at him, and smiled too. 

“ Mightn’t you risk it ? Of course, truth 
is dangerous, but he’s very fond of you.” 

“ Won’t you help me ? ” 

A heavy step and the sound of impatient 
pushing of furniture were heard from the 
next room. 

“ Gerald is getting tired of waiting,” said 
George. 

“Won’t you do anything?” asked Neaera 
again, barely repressing a sob. 

“Supposing I were willing to lie, where 
is a possible lie ? How can I explain it ? ” 

Timms knocked and entered. Gerald 
begged for a minute’s interview, on pressing 
business. 

“In a moment,” said George. Then, 
turning to Neaera, he added brusquely, 
“ Come, you must decide, Mrs. Witt.” 

Neaera was no longer in a condition to 
decide anything. Tears were her ready 
refuge in time of trouble, and she was 
picturesquely weeping— fo^ she possessed 


204 


MR. WITT’S WIDOW. 


that rare gift — in the old leathern arm- 
chair. 

“ Will you leave it to me ? ” asked George. 
“ I’ll do the best I can.” 

Neaera sobbed forth the opinion that 
George was her only friend. 

“ I shall tell him everything,” said George. 
H Do you authorise me to do that ? ” 

“ Oh, how miserable I am ! — oh, yes, yes.” 

“ Then stop crying, and try to look nice.” 

« Why ? ” 

“ Because I shall bring him in.” 

“ Oh ! ” cried Neaera in dismay. But when 
George went out, she made her hair a little 
rougher — for so paradoxically do ladies set 
about the task of ordering their appearance — 
and anointed her eyes with the contents of 
a mysterious phial, produced from a recondite 
pocket. Then she sat up straight, and 
strained her ears to catch any sound from 
the next room, where her fate was being 
decided. She could distinguish which of the 
two men was speaking, but not the words. 
First Gerald, then George, then Gerald 
again. Next, for full five minutes, George 
talked in low but seemingly emphatic tones. 
Then came a sudden shout from Gerald. 


THEBE IB AN EXFL08ION. 


205 


“ Here ! ” he cried. “ In your room ! ” 

They had risen, and were moving about. 
Neaera’s heart beat, though she sat still as 
a statue. The door was flung open, and she 
rose to meet Gerald, as he entered with a 
rush. George followed, with a look of 
mingled anger and perplexity on his face. 
Gerald flung a piece of paper at Neaera ; it 
was Mrs. Bort’s letter, and, as it fell at her 
feet, she sank back again in her chair, with 
a bitter little cry. The worst had happened. 

“ Thank God for an honest woman ! ” cried 
Gerald. 

“Gerald!” she murmured, stretching out 
her hands to him. 

“ Ah, you can do that to him ! ” he answered, 
pointing to George. 

“ I — I loved you,” she said. 

“ He’ll believe you, perhaps — or help you 
in your lies. I’ve done with you.” 

He passed his hand over his brow, and 
went on. “ I was easy to hoodwink, wasn’t 
I ? Only a little wheedling and fondling — 
only a kiss or two — and a lie or two! I 
believed it all. And you,” he added, turning 
on George, “ you spared her, you pitied her, 
you sacrificed yourself. A fine sacrifice ! ” 


206 


MR. WITT 8 WIDOW. 


George put his hands in his pockets, and 
shrugged his shoulders. 

“ I shouldn’t go on before Mrs. Witt,” he 
remarked. 

“ Not go on ! No, no. She’s so pure, so 
innocent, isn’t she ? Worth any sacrifice ? ” 

“ What do you mean, Gerald ? ” said 
Neaera. 

“You don’t know?” he asked, with a 
sneer. “ What does a man ask for what 
he’s done ? and what will a woman give ? 
Will give ? Has given ? ” 

“ Hold your tongue ! ” said George, laying 
a hand on his shoulder. 

Neaera sat still, gazing at her lover with 
open eyes : only a little shudder ran over her. 

“ You duped me nicely between you,” 
Gerald continued, “me and all the world. 
No truth in it all ! A mistake ! — all a mis- 
take ! He .found out — his mistake ! ” His 
voice rose almost to a shriek, and ended in a 
bitter laugh. 

“You needn’t be a brute,” said George, 
coldly. 

Gerald looked at him, then at Neaera, and 
uttered another sneering laugh. George was 
close by him now, seeming to watch every 


THERE IS AN EXPLOSION. 


20 1 


motion of his lips. Noaera rose from her 
chair, and flung herself at the feet of the 
angry man. 

“ Ah, Gerald, my love, have pity ! ” she 
wailed. 

“ Pity ! ” he echoed, drawing back, so that 
she fell on her face before him. “ Pity ! I 
might pity a thief, I might pity a liar, I have 
no pity for a ” 

The sentence went unfinished, for, with a 
sudden motion, George closed on him, and 
flung him through the open door out of the 
room. 

“ Finish your 1 lackguardism outside ! ” he 
said, as he shut the door and turned the 

key. 


208 


MB. WITT'S WIDOW. 


CHAPTER XYII. 

LAURA DIFFERS. 

Ira brevis furor , says the moralist; and the 
adjective is the only part of the saw that is 
open to exception. Gerald Nes ton’s wrath 
burnt fiercely, but it burnt steadily also, and 
reflection brought with it nothing but a 
stronger conviction of his wrongs. To 
George, the interpretation his cousin put on 
his action in shielding Neaera seemed to 
argue that uncommon degree of wrong- 
headedness that is hardly distinguishable 
from immorality. Yet, in the recesses of 
George’s heart lurked the knowledge that 
Mrs. Witt, plain, old, unattractive, might 
have reaped scant mercy at his hands ; and 
Gerald, if he did not believe all he had 
brutally hinted, believed quite enough of it 


LAURA DIFFERS. 


209 


to make him regard George as a traitor and 
Neaera as an intriguer. What sane man 
could have acted as George had acted, unless 
under a woman’s fascination ? Jealousy did 
the rest, for Neaera herself had sapped the 
strength of her lover’s trust in her, and 
he doubted not that she who had deluded 
him in everything else had not hesitated to 
practise on him the last deceit. She and 
George were confederates. Need any one 
ask how they became so, or what the terms 
of the alliance were ? 

It was hardly wonderful that this theory, 
strange as it seemed, should find a place in 
Gerald’s disordered mind, or that, having 
done so, it should vent itself in intemperate 
words and reckless sneers. It was, however, 
more remarkable that the opinion gained some 
general favour. It pleased the cynical, for it 
explained away what seemed like a generous 
action; it pleased the gossips, for it intro- 
duced into the Neston affair the topic most 
congenial to gossips; it pleased the “unco’ 
guid,” for it pointed the moral of the ubiquity 
of sin ; it pleased men as a sex, because it 
made George’s conduct natural and explicable; 
It "pleased women as a esx, because it ratified 

P 


210 


MR WITT'S WIDOW 


the opinion they had always held of beautiful 
mysterious widows in general, and of Neaera 
Witt in particular. And amid this chorus, 
the voice of the charitable, admitting indis- 
cretion, but asserting generosity, was lost 
and hushed, and George’s little band of 
friends and believers were dubbed blind 
partisans and, by consequence, almost accom- 
plices. 

Fortunately for George, among his friends 
were men who cared little for public repro- 
bation. Mr. Blodwell did his work, ate his 
dinner, said what he thought, and esteemed 
the opinion of society much at- the value the 
Duke of Wellington set upon the views of 
the French nation. As for Lord Maple- 
durham and Sidmouth Yane, unpopularity 
was the breath of their nostrils; and Yane 
did not hesitate to purchase the pleasure of 
being in a minority by a sacrifice of consist- 
ency ; he abandoned the theory which he had 
been among the first to suggest, as soon as 
the suggestion passed by general acceptance 
into vulgarity. 

The three men: gave George Neston a 
dinner, drank Neaera’s health, and allowed 
themselves an attitude of almost contemptuous 


LAURA DIFFER 8, 


211 


protest against the verdict of society — a 
verdict forcibly expressed by the BulTs-eye , 
when it declared with not unnatural warmth 
that it had had enough of this “ sordid 
affair.” But then the Bull's-eye had hardly 
shown its wonted perspicacity, and Mr. 
Espion declared that he had not been treated 
in a respectful way. There was no traversing 
the fact ; George’s party fell back on a denial 
ot the obligation. 

Mankind is so constructed that the appro- 
bation of man does not satisfy man, nor that 
of woman woman. If all the clubs had been 
ringing with his praises, George Neston 
would still have turned his first and most 
eager glance to Mrs. Pocklington’s. As it 
was, he thought of little else than what view 
of his conduct would gain the victory there. 
Alas! he knew only too soon. Twice he 
called : twice was entrance refused him. Then 
came a note from Mrs. Pocklington — an 
unanswerable note ; for the lady asserted 
nothing and denied nothing ; she intrenched 
herself behind common opinion. She, 
as George knew, was a tolerably inde- 
pendent person so far as her own fame was 
concerned: but where her daughter was 


212 


MB. WITT'S WIDOW. 


interested, it was another thing; Laura’s 
suitor must not be under a cloud; Laura’s 
future must not be jeopardied ; Laura’s affec- 
tions must be reposed only where absolute 
security could be guaranteed. Mr. Pockling- 
ton agreed with his wife to the full. Hence 
there must be an end of everything — so far 
as the Pocklington household was concerned, 
an end of George Neston. And poor George 
read the decree, and groaned in his heart. 
Nevertheless, strange events were happening 
behind that door, so firmly, so impenetrably 
closed to George’s eager feet — events to Mrs. 
Pocklington inconceivable, even while they 
actually happened; to her husband, alarm- 
ing, reprehensible, extraordinary, puzzling, 
amusing, almost, in a way, delightful. In 
fine, Laura rebelled. And the declaration 
of independence was promulgated on this 
wise. 

Mrs. Pocklington had conveyed to her 
daughter, with all delicacy requisite and 
imaginable, the new phase of the affair. It 
shocked and distressed her to allude to such 
things ; but Laura was a woman now, and 
must know — and so forth. And Laura heard 
it all with no apparent shock — nay, with a 


LAURA DIFFERS, 


213 


calmness approaching levity ; and when she 
was told that all communications between 
herself and George must cease, she shook 
her pretty head and retired to her bedroom, 
neither accepting nor protesting against the 
decision. 

The next morning after breakfast she 
appeared, equipped for a walk, holding a 
letter in her hand. Mrs. Pocklington had 
ordered her household, and had now sat 
down to a comfortable hour with a novel 
before luncheon. Dis aliter visum. 

“ I am going out, mamma,” Laura began, 
“ to post this note to Mr. Neston.” 

Mrs. Pocklington never made mistakes in 
the etiquette of names, and assumed a like 
correctness in others. She imagined her 
daughter referred to Gerald. “ Why need 
you write to him ? ” she asked, looking up. 
“ He’s nothing more than an acquaintance.” 

“ Mamma ! He’s an intimate friend.” 

** Gerald Neston an intimate friend t 
Why ” 

“ I mean Mr. George Neston,” said Laura, 
in a calm voice, but with a slight blush. 

“ George ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Pocklington. 
“What in the world do you want to write 


214 


MB. WITT ’8 WIDOW. 


to George Nest on for ? I have said all that 
is necessary.” 

“ I thought I should like to say something 
too.” 

“ My dear, certainly not. If you had 
been — if there had been anything actually 
arranged, perhaps a line from you would 
have been right ; though, under the circum- 
stances, I doubt it. As it is, for you to write 
would simply be to give him a chance of 
reopening the acquaintance. 

Laura did not sit down, but stood by the 
door, prodding the carpet with the point of 
her parasol. “ Is the acquaintance closed ? ” 
she asked, after a pause. 

“ You remember, surely, what I said 
yesterday ? I hope it’s not necessary to 
repeat it.” 

“ Oh no, mamma ; I remember it.” Laura 
paused, gave the carpet another prod, and 
went on, “ I’m just writing to say I don’t 
believe a word of it.” 

“ Jack’s Darling ” fell from Mrs, Pockling- 
ton’s paralysed grasp. . 

“ Laura, how dare you ? It is enough 
for you that I have decided what is to be 
done.” 


LAURA DIFFERS. 


215 


“You see, mamma, when everybody is 
turning against him, I want to show him 
he has one friend, ai least, who doesn’t 
believe these hateful stories ” 

“I wonder you haven’t more self-respect. 
Considering what is said about him and 
Neaera Witt ” 

“Oh, bother Mrs. Witt!” said Laura, 
actually smiling. “ Really, mamma, it’s 
nonsense ; he doesn’t care that for Neaera 
Witt ! ” And she tried to snap her fingers ; 
but, happily for Mrs. Pocklington’s nerves, 
the attempt was a failure. 

“ I shall not argue with you, Laura. You 
will obey me, and there is an end of it.” 

“ You told me I was a woman yesterday. 
If I am, I ought to be allowed to judge for 
myself. Anyhow, you ought to hear what 
I have to say.” 

“ Give me that letter, Laura.” 

“ I’m very sorry mamma ; but ” 

" Give it to me.’ 

“ Yery wall ; I shall have to write 
another.” 

“ Do you mean to defy me, Laura ? ” 

Laura made no answer. 

Mrs. Pocklington opened and read the letter. 


216 


MR. WITT '8 WIDOW. 


“ Dear Mr. Neston,” (it ran) — 

“I want you to know that I do 
not believe a single word of what they are 
saying. I am very sorry for poor Mrs. Witt, 
and I think you have acted splendidly. Isn’t 
it charming weather? Riding in the park 
in the morning is a positive delight. 

“ With kindest regards, 

“ Yours very sincerely, 

“Laura F. Pocklinoton.” 

Mrs. Pocklington gasped. The note was 
little better than an assignation ! “ I shall 

show this to your father,” she said, and 
swept out of the room. 

Laura sat down and wrote an exact copy 
of the offending document, addressed it, 
stamped it, and put it in her pocket. Then, 
with ostentatious calmness, she took up 
“Jack’s Darling,” and appeared to become 
immersed in it. 

Mrs. Pocklington found it hard to make 
her husband appreciate the situation ; indeed, 
she had scarcely risen to it herself. Every- 
body talks of heredity in these days : the 
Poeklingtons, both people of resolute will, 
had the opportunity of studying its working 


LAURA DIFFERS. 


217 


in their own daughter. The result was fierce 
anger in Mrs. Pocklington, mingled anger 
and admiration in her husband, perplexity in 
both. Laura's position was simple and well 
defined. By coercion and imprisonment she 
might, she admitted, be prevented sending 
her letter and receiving a reply, but by no 
other means. Appeals to duty were met by 
appeals to justice; she parried entreaty by 
counter-entreaty, reproofs by protestations of 
respect, orders by silence. What was to be 
done ? Laura was too old, and the world was 
too old, for violent remedies. Intercepting 
correspondence meant exposure to the house- 
hold. The revolt was appalling, absurd, 
unnatural ; but it was also, as Mr. Pocklington 
admitted, “infernally awkward.” Laura re- 
alised that its awkwardness was her strength, 
and, having in vain invited actual physical 
restraint, in its absence walked out and 
posted her letter. 

Then Mrs. Pocklington acted. At a day’s 
notice she broke up her establishment for the 
season, and carried her daughter off with her. 
She gave no address save to her husband. 
Laura was not allowed to know whither she 
was being taken. She was, as she bitterly 


218 


MR. WITT '8 WIDOW. 


said, “ spirited away ” by the continental 
mail, and all the communications cut. Only, 
just as the brougham was starting, when the 
last box was on, and Mr. Pocklington, hav- 
ing spoken his final word of exhortation, 
was waving good-bye from the steps, Laura 
jumped out, crossed the road, and dropped a 
note into a pillar-box. 

“ It is only,” she remarked, resuming her 
seat, “to tell Mr. Neston that I can’t give 
him any address at present.” 

What, asked Mrs. Pocklington of her 
troubled mind, were you to do with a girl 
like that? 


( 31 » ) 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

GEORGE NEARLY GOES TO BRIGHTON. 

One evening, about a week after wbat Mr. 
Espion called the final esclandre, Tommy 
Myles made his appearance in the smoking- 
room of the Themis. More important matters 
have ousted the record of Tommy’s marriage 
and blissful honeymoon, and he came hack to 
find that a negligent world had hardly noticed 
his absence. 

“ How are you ? ” said he to Sidmouth 
Yane. 

“How are you?” said Yane, raising his 
eyes for a moment from Punch. 

Tommy sat down by him. “ I say,” he 
remarked, “this Neston business is rather 
neat. We read about it in Switzerland.” 

“ Been away ? ” 


220 


MB. WITT’S WIDOW 


“Of course I have — after my wedding, 
you know.” 

“ Ah ! Seen Punch ? ” And Yane handed 
it to him. 

“ I had a pretty shrewd idea of how the 
land lay. So had Bella.” 

“ Bella ? ” 

“ Why, my wife.” 

“ Oh, a thousand pardons. I thought you 
rather backed Mrs. Witt.” 

“ My dear fellow, we wanted her to have 
fair play. I suppose there’s no question of 
the marriage now ? ” 

“ I suppose not.” 

“ What’s the fair Mrs. Witt going to 
do ? ” 

Yane wanted to be let alone, and Tommy 
worried him. He turned on the little gentle- 
man with some ferocity. “ My dear Tommy,” 
he said, “ you backed her through thick and 
thin, and blackguarded George for attacking 
her.” 

“ Yes, but ” 

“ Well, whoever was right, you weren’t, 
so hadn’t you better say no more about 
it?” And Mr. Yane rose and walked 
away. 


GEORGE NEARLY GOES TO BRIGHTON. 221 

In fact, he was thoughtful. What would 
Mrs. Witt do next ? And what would George 
Neston do? Yane knew of cases where the 
accusation suggests the crime ; it seemed not 
unlikely that if George had to hear the con- 
tumely attaching to a connection with Mrs. 
Witt, he might think it as well to reap the 
benefit. He might not have sought to win 
her favour yet, but it was very possible he 
might do so now. If he didn’t — well, some 
one would. And Mr. Yane considered that 
he might find it worth his while to be 
the man. His great relatives would cry 
aloud in horror; society would be shocked. 
But a man will endure something for 
a pretty woman and five thousand a 
year. Only, what did George Neston mean 
to do ? 

It will be seen that Sidmouth Yane did not 
share Laura Pocklington’s conviction that 
George cared nothing for Mrs. Witt. Of 
course he had not Laura’s reasons : and per- 
haps some difference between the masculine 
and feminine ways of looking at such things 
must be allowed for. As it happened, how- 
ever, Vane was right — for a moment. After 
George had been for a second time repulsed 


222 


MB. WITT’S WIDOW 


from Mrs. Pocklington’s doors, finding the 
support of his friends, unsatisfying and 
yearning for the more impassioned ap- 
proval that women give, he went the 
next day to Neaera’s, and intruded oa the 
sorrow-laden retirement to which that 
wronged lady had betaken herself. And 
Neaera’s grief and gratitude, her sorrow 
and sympathy, her friendship and fury, 
were all alike and equally delightful to 
him. 

“The meanness of it! ” she cried with 
flashing eyes. “ Oh, I would rather die than 
have a petty soul like that ! ” 

Gerald was, of course, the subject of these 
strictures, and George was content not to 
contradict them. 

“ He evidently,” continued Neaera, “ simply 
cannot understand your generosity. It’s 
beyond him ! ” 

“ Yon mustn’t rate what you call 
my generosity too high,” said George. 
“ But what are you going to do, Mrs. 
Witt?” 

Neaera spread her hands out with a gesture 
of despair. 

“ What am I to do ? I am — desolate." 


GEORGE NEARLY GOES TO BRIGHTON. 223 

•- 6o am I. We must console one 
another.” 

This speech was indiscreet. G-eorge 
recognised it, when Neaera’s answering 
glance reached him. 

“ That will make them talk worse than 
ever,” she said, smiling. “ You ought never 
to speak to me again, Mr. Neston.” 

“ Oh, we are damned beyond redemption, 
so we may as well enjoy ourselves.” 

“ No, you mustn’t shock your friends still 
more.” 

“ I have no friends left to shock,” replied 
George, bitterly. 

Neaera implored him not to say that, 
running over the names of such as might be 
supposed to remain faithful. George shook 
his head at each name : when the Pockling- 
tons were mentioned, his shake was big with 
sombre meaning. 

“Well, well,” she said with a sigh, “and 
now what are you going to do ? ” 

“ Oh, nothing. I think some of us are 
going to have a run to Brighton. I shall go, 
just to get out of this.” 

“ Is Brighton nice now ? ” 

“ Nicer than London, anyhow. ” 


224 


MB. WITT'S WIDOW. 


“ Yes. Mr. Neston ? ” 

“Yes, Mrs. Witt? Why don’t you oome 
too.” 

“ At any rate, you’d — you and your friends 
— be somebody to speak to, wouldn’t you ? ” 
said Neaera, resting her chin on her hand 
and gazing at George. 

“Oh yes, you must come. We shall be 
very jolly.” 

“ Poor us ! But perhaps it will console us 
to mingle our tears.” 

“ Will you come ? ” asked George. 

“ I shan’t tell you,” she said with a laugh. 
“It must be purely accidental.” 

“A fortuitous concurrence? Very well. 
We go to-morrow.” 

“ I don’t want to know when you 

“ No. But we do.” 

Neaera laughed again, and George took 
his leave, better pleased with the world than 
when he arrived. A call on a pretty woman 
often has this effect; sometimes, let us add, 
to complete our commonplace, just the 
opposite. 

“ Why shouldn’t I ? ” he argued to himself. 
“I don’t know why I should get all the 


GEORGE NEARLY GOES TO BRIGHTON. 225 

blame for nothing. If they think it of me, 
I may as well do it” 

But when George reached his lodgings, he 
found on the table, side by side with Mr 
Blodwell’s final letter about the Brighton 
trip, Laura Pocklington’s note. And then— 
away went Brighton, and Neaera Witt, and 
the reckless defiance of public opinion, and 
all the rest of it I And George swore at 
himself for a heartless, distrustful, worth- 
less person, quite undeserving to receive 
such a letter from such a lady. And 
when the second letter came the next 
morning, he swore again, at himself for 
his meditated desertion, and by all his 
gods, that he would be worthy of such 
favour. 

“ The child’s a trump,” he said, “ a regular 
trump ! And she shan’t be worried by 
hearing of me hanging about in Mrs. Witt’s 
neighbourhood.” 

The happy reflections which ensued were 
appropriate, but hackneyed, being in fact 
those of a man much in love. It is, however, 
worth notice that Laura’s refusal to think 
evil had its reward : for if she had suspected 
George, she would never have shown him 

Q 


226 


MB. WITT'S WIDOW. 


her heart in those letters ; and, but for those 
letters, he might have gone to Brighton, 
and ; whereas what did happen was some- 

thing quite different. 


( 227 ) 


CHAPTER XIX 

SOME ONE TO SPEAK TO. 

Being a public character, although an object 
of ambition to many, has its disadvantages. 
Fame is very pleasant, but we do not want 
everybody in the hotel to point at us when 
we come down to dinner. When Neaera 
went to Brighton — for it is surely unneces- 
sary to say that she intended to go and did 
go thither — she felt that the fame which had 
been thrust upon her debarred her from 
hotels, and she took lodgings of a severely 
respectable type, facing the sea. There she 
waited two days, spending her time walking 
and driving where all the world walks and 
drives. There were no signs of George, 
and Neaera felt aggrieved. She sent him 
a lin \ and waited two days more. Then 


228 MR. WITT '8 WIDOW. 

she felt she was being treated as badly a& 
possible — unkindly, negligently, faithlessly, 
disrespectfully. He had asked her to eccre ; 
the invitation was as plain as could be : 
without a word, she was thrown over! 
In great indignation she told her maid to 
pack up, and, meanwhile, sallied out to see 
if the waves would perform their traditional 
duty of soothing a wounded spirit. The 
task was a hard one ; for, whatever Neaera 
Witt had suffered, neglect at the hands of 
man was a grief fortune had hitherto spared 
her. 

She forsook the crowded parade, and 
strolled down by the water’s edge. Pre- 
sently she sat down under the shade of a 
boat, and surveyed the waters and the future. 
She felt very lonely. George had seemed 
inclined to be pleasant, but now he had 
deserted her. She had no one to speak to. 
What was the use of being pretty and 
rich? Everything was very hard, and she 
had done no real harm, and was a very, 

very miserable girl, and Under the 

shade of the boat, Neaera cried a little, 
choosing the moment when there were no 
passers-by. 


SOME OSS TO SPEAK TO. 


229 


But on© who came from behind escaped 
her vigilance. He saw the gleam of golden 
hair, and the slim figure, and the little 
shapely head bowing forward to meet the 
gloved hands ; and he came down the beach, 
and, standing behind her for a moment, 
heard a little gurgle of distress. 

“ I beg your pardon,” said he. “ Can I 
help?” 

Neaera looked up with a start. The 
upright figure, bravely resisting a growing 
weight of years, the iron-grey hair, the 
hooked nose, and pleasant keen eyes seemed 
familiar to her. Surely she had seen him 
in town 1 

“Why, it’s Mrs. Witt!” he said. “We 
are acquaintances, or we ought to be.” And 
he held out his hand, adding, with a smile, 
“ I am Lord Mapledurham.” 

“ Oh ! ” said Neaera. 

“ Yes,” said the Marquis. “ Now, I know 
all about it, and it’s a burning shame. And, 
what’s more, it’s all my fault.” 

“ Your fault ? ” she said, in surprise. 

“However, I warned George Neston to 
let it alone. But he’s a hot-headed fellow.” 

“ I never thought him that” 


230 


MB. WITT’S WIDOW. 


“He is, though. Well, look at this. He 
asks Blodwell, and Yane, and me — at least, 
he didn’t ask me, but Blodwell did — to 
make a party here. We agree. The next 
moment — hey, presto ! he’s off at a 
tangent ! ” 

Neaera could not make up her mind 
whether Lord Mapledurham was giving this 
explanation merely to account for his own 
presence or also for her information. 

“The fact is, you see,” the Marquis re- 
sumed, “his affairs are rather troublesome. 
He’s out of favour with the authorities, you 
know — Mrs. Pocklington.” 

“ Does he mind about Mrs. Pocklington ? ” 

“ He minds about Miss Pocklington, and 
I suspect ” 

“Yes?” 

“ That she minds about him. I met Pock- 
lington at the club yesterday, and he told 
me his people had gone abroad. I said it 
was rather sudden, but Pocklington turned 
very gruff, and said ‘ Not at all.’ Of course 
that wasn’t true.” 

“ Oh, I hope she will be good to him/* 
said Neaera. “ Fancy, if I were the 


cause- 


SOME ONE TO SPEAK TO. 231 

** As I said at the beginning Interrupted 
the Marquis, “ I’m the cause.” 

“You!” 

Then he settled himself by her side, and 
told her how his reminiscence had been the 
first thing to set G-eorge on the track of 
discovery, whence all the trouble had re- 
sulted. 

“ So you see,” he ended, “ you have to 
put all your woes down to my chatter.” 

“ How strange ! ” she said dreamily, look- 
ing out to sea. 

The Marquis nodded, hiu eye*, scanning 
her face. 

Then she turned to him suddenly, and 
said, “I was very young, you know, and 
— rather hungry.” 

“I am a sinner myself,” he answered, 
smiling. 

“ And — and what I did afterwards, I ” 

“I came to make my confession, not to 
hear yours. How shall I atone for all I 
have brought on you? What shall I do 
now?” 

u I — I only want some friends, and — and 
some one to speak to,” said Neaera, with a 
forlorn little sigh. 


232 


MB. WITT’S WIDOW. 


The Marquis took her hand and kissed it 
gallantly. “ If that is all,” said he, smiling, 
“ perhaps we may manage.” 

“ Thanks,” said Neaera, putting her hand- 
kerchief into her pocket. 

“That’s right I Blodwell and Vane are 
here too, and ” 

“ I don’t much care about them ; but ” 

“ Oh, they’re all on your side.” 

“ Are they ? I needn’t see more of them 
than I like, need I?” 

The Marquis was not young, no, nor in- 
experienced ; but, all the same, he was not 
proof against this flattery. “Perhaps they 
won’t stay long,” he said. 

“ And you ? ” she asked. 

He smiled at her, and, after a moment of 
innocent seriousness, her lips wavered into 
an answering smile. 

The Marquis, after taking tea with Neaera 
and satisfying himself that the lady was not 
planning immediate flight, strolled back to 
his hotel in a thoughtful mood. He enjoyed 
a little triumph over Mr. Blodwell and Sid- 
mouth Vane at dinner; but this did not 
satisfy him. For almost the first time in his 
life, he felt the need of an adviser and con- 


BOMS ONE TO SPEAK TO. 


233 


fidant : he was afraid that he was going to 
make a fool of himself. Mr. Blodwell with- 
drew after dinner, to grapple with some 
papers which had pursued him, and the Mar- 
quis sat smoking a cigar on a seat with Vane, 
struggling against the impulse to trust that 
young man with his thoughts. Yane was 
placidly happy : the distant, hypothetical 
relations between himself and Neaera, the 
like of which his busy idle brain constructed 
around every attractive marriageable woman 
he met, had no power to disturb either his 
soul or his digestion. If it so fell out, it 
would be well; but he was conscious that 
the object would wring from him no very 
active exertions. 

“ Mrs. Witt expected to find George here, 
I suppose ? ” he asked, flicking the ash from 

his cigar. 

44 Yes, I think so." 

44 Anything on there ? " 

44 Nothing at all, my dear fellow,” replied the 
Marquis, with more confidence than he would 
have shown twelve hours before. 44 She knows 
he’s mad about little Laura Pocklington.” 

44 I’ll call on her to-morrow,” said Yane, 
with his usual air of gracious condescension. 


234 


MB. WITT'S WIDOW. 


“ She’s living very quietly,” remarked the 
Marquis. 

Yane turned towards him with a smile and 
almost a wink. “ Oho ! ” he said. 

“ Be respectful to your elders, you young 
dog,” said the Marquis. 

“ You make us forget your claims in that 
respect. You must be more venerable,” 
answered Yane. 

After a moment’s silent smoking, “Why 
don’t you marry ? ” asked the Marquis. It 
is a question which often means that the 
questioner’s own thoughts are trending in 
that direction. 

“ I’m waiting for that heiress.” Then he 
added, perhaps out of good nature, “ If it 
comes to that, why don’t you ? ” 

“ I’m not anxious to have people pointing 
at me for an old fool.” / 

“ Oh, hang people ! Besides, you’re not 
old.” 

“ Fifty-six.” 

“ That’s nothing nowadays.” 

“ You’re laughing ! ” said the Marquis, 
suspiciously. 

“ Upon my honour, no.” 

The Marquis laughed too, and put his cigar 


SOME ONE TO SPEAK TO. 


235 


back in bis mouth. He took it out again 
almost at once. “ It wouldn’t be bad to have 
a son,” he said. “ I mean an heir, you 
know.” 

“ The first step is a wife then, no doubt.” 

“Most women are so tedious. Still, you 
understand my feeling ? ” 

“I might in your position. For myself, 
I hate brats.” 

“ Ah, you will feel it some day.” 

V ane thought this rather barefaced. “ When 
did it attack you ? ” he asked with a smile. 

“ This afternoon,” answered the Marquis, 
gravely. 

Yane’s cynical humour was tickled by the 
d&notonent this admission suggested. “ Gad ! 
I should like to see Gerald Neston’s face!” 
he chuckled, forgetting his own designs in 
his gratification. 

“Of course she’s — well, the deuce of a 
flirt,” said the Marquis. 

Yane risked a philosophical generalisation. 
“All nice women are flirts,” he said. “ That’s 
what ydu mean when you call them nice.” 

“ Yery pretty and attractive, though.” 

“ And the shoes ? ” 

“ Damn the shoes ! ” said the Marquis. 


236 


ME. WITT' 8 WHiOW. 


The next morning, Mr. Blodwell and Sid- 
mouth Yane went to London ; but the society 
papers recorded that the Marquis of Maple- 
durham prolonged his stay at Brighton. 


I 387 ) 


CHAPTER XX. 

fate’s instruments. 

SumnsR and autumn came and went The 
season died lingeringly and suffered its slow 
resurrection. Grouse and partridges, autumn 
scares and vacation speeches, the yield of the 
crops and the beginning of the session each 
had their turn of public favour, and the great 
Neston sensation died away, galvanised now 
and again into a fitful spasm of life by Mr. 
Espion’s persevering battery. His efforts 
were in vain. All the cats were out of all 
the bags, and the interest of the public was 
satiated. The actors in the drama, return- 
ing to town, as most of them did in the 
winter, found themselves restored to ob- 
scurity ; their story, once so eagerly dished 


238 


MB. WITT'S WIDOW. 


up as the latest gossip, was now the 
stale stock of bores, useful only to regale 
the very young or the very provincial 
palate. 

All at once, there was a revival. A 
rumour, a piquant rumour, began to be 
whispered at the clubs. Men again looked 
at Gerald Neston, wondering if he had heard 
it, and at George, asking how he would 
take it. Mr. Blodwell had to protest 
ignorance twenty times a day, and Sid- 
mouth Yane intrenched himself in the safe 
seclusion of his official apartment If 
it were true, it was magnificent. Who 
knew ? 

Mr. Pocklington heard the rumour, but, 
communing with his own heart, held his 
tongue. He would not disturb the peace 
that seemed again to have settled on his 
house. Laura, having asserted her indepen- 
dence, had allowed the subject to drop ; she 
had been bright, cheerful, and docile, had 
seen sights, and gone to entertainments, and 
made herself agreeable ; and Mrs. Pocklington 
hoped, against a secret conviction, that the 
rebellion was not only sleeping but dead. 
Bhe could not banish herself from London; 


FATE’S INSTRUMENTS 


239 


go, with outward confidence and inward fear, 
she brought her daughter home in November, 
praying that George Neston might not cross 
her path, praying too, in her kind heart, that 
time might remove the silent barrier between 
her and her daughter, against which she 
fretted in vain. 

But certain other people had no idea of 
leaving the matter to the slow and uncertain 
hand of time. There was a plot afoot. 
George was in it, and Sidmouth Yane, and 
Mr. Blodwell; so was the Marquis, and 
another, whose present name it would ruin 
our deep mystery to disclose — if it be guessed, 
there is no help for it. And just when Laura 
was growing sad, and a little hurt and angry 
at hearing nothing from George, she chanced 
to have a conversation with Sidmouth Yane, 
and emerged therefrom, laughing, blushing, 
and riotously happy, though the only visible 
outcome of the talk was an invitation for 
her mother and herself to join in the mild 
entertainment of afternoon tea at Yane’s 
rooms the next day. Now, Sidmouth Yane 
was very deceitful; he, so to say, appro- 
priated tc his own use and credit Laura’s 
blushes and Laura’s laughter, and, when the 


240 


MB. WITT’S WIDOW. 


invitation came, innocent Mrs. Pocklington, 
without committing herself to an ap- 
proval of Mr. Yane, rejoiced to think it 
pleased Laura to take tea with any 
young man other than George Neston, 
and walked into the trap with gracious 
urbanity. 

Yane received his guests, Mr. Blodwell 
supporting him. Mrs. Pocklington and 
her daughter were the first arrivals, and 
Yane apologised for the lateness of the 
others. 

“ Lord Mapledurham is coming,” he said, 
“ and he’s been very busy lately.” 

“ I thought he was out of town,” said Mrs. 
Pocklington. 

“ He only came back yesterday.” 

The door opened, and Yane’s servant 
announced with much pomp, “ The Marquis 
and Marchioness of Mapledurham.” 

The Marquis advanced straight to Mrs. 
Pocklington; then he took Neaera’s hand, 
and said, “You have always been good to 
me, Mrs. Pocklington. I hope you’ll be as 
good to my wife.” 

It was hushed up as far as possible, 
but still it leaked out that, on this sole 


FATS’S INSTRUMENTS 


241 


occasion, Mrs. Pocklington was at a loss 
— was, in fact, if the word be allowable, 
flabbergasted. Vane maliciously hinted 
at burnt feathers and other extreme 
remedies, and there was really no doubt at 
all that Laura untied her mother’s bonnet- 
strings. 

Neaera stood looking on, half proud, 
half frightened, till Laura ran to her 
and kissed her, and called her the best 
friend she had, with much other emotional 
language. 

Then Mrs. Pocklington came round, and 
took a cup of tea, and, still unconsciously do- 
ing just as she was meant to do, drifted into 
the balcony with the Marquis, and had a long 
conversation with him. When she came 
back, she found Vane ordering a fresh pot of 
tea. 

“ But we must really be going,” she said. 
“ Mustn’t we, Laura ? ” And as she spoke 
she took her daughter’s hand and patted it. 

“Do you expect any one else, Vane?” 
asked Mr. Blodwell. 

“ Well, I did, but he’s very late.” 

“Where can he have got to?” asked 
Neaera, smiling. 

B 


242 


MR. WITT 8 WIDOW. 


“Oh, I know where he is,” said Yane 
“ He’s — he’s only in the next room.” 

Everybody looked at Mrs. Poeklington 
and smiled. She looked at them all, 
and last at her daughter. Laura was 
smiling too, but her eyes were eager and 
imploring. 

“ If he wants any tea, he had better come 
In,” said Mrs. Poeklington. 

So the pair of shoes wrought out their 
work, giving society yet another sensation, 
making Neaera Witt a great lady, and Laura 
Poeklington a happy woman, and confirm- 
ing all Mrs. Bort’s darkest views on the 
immorality of the aristocracy. And the 
Marquis and G-eorge Nest on put their heads 
together, and caused to be fashioned two 
dainty little shoes in gold and diamonds, 
and gave them to their wives, as a sign 
and remembrance of the ways of destiny. 
And Neaera wears the shoe, and will 
talk to you quite freely about Peckton 
Gaol. 

The whole affair, however, shocked Lord 
Tottlebury very deeply, and Gerald Neston 
is still a bachelor. Whether this fate be a 
reward for the merits he displayed, or a 


FATS’S INSTRUMENTS. 


243 


punishment for the faults he fell into, let 
each, according to his prejudices or his ex- 
perience, decide. Non nostrum eat tonics 
componere litea. 


A Ward of the King 


(An Historical Romance ) 

By KATHARINE S. MACQUOID 

328 pages , size 7% x$, Clothe Ink and Gold , $1 23 

This is a story of the times of the great Constable of 
Bourbon. Jeanne d’Acigne is married when a child to ihe 
Comte de Laval. Adventures and the clash of steel are 
things masculine, and the woman cannot put enough muscle 
into her hard knocks. But perhaps for this very reason it 
may be commended to those gentler souls who shrink from 
blood and wounds ; and it may be also commended to those 
who are charmed by a singularly refined and feminine style 
for its own gracious sake. — London Literary World. 

“ A Ward of the King” is a romance of the time of the 
Bourbon kings. The heroine is the only child of the Count 
d’Acigne, dead when the story opens ; the heroes, the Count 
of Laval, whom she marries at thirteen at the command of 
the King and her friend and unknown lover, Roland, the 
heir of the Vicomte d’Orbec — both noble men in truth. 
The cousin of the Count of Laval, Etienne de Retz, conceived 
a passion for the Countess Laval on her wedding day. This 
leads to the intrigue about which the story, full of life and 
fire, centers. — The Outlook. 

Miss Katharine S. Macquoid in her new book, ‘ A Ward 
of the King,” has departed somewhat from the usual rule of 
romance writers. She has taken for the centre figure of the 
story a woman instead of a swaggering man. This notion, 
however, must be commended by the excellent manner in 
which the authoress has transcribed it. — Boston Courier . 

I With the present widespread popularity of, and interest 
in the historical romance, Katharine Macquoid’s “A Ward 
of the King” is sure of a hearing. The tale is worthy of the 
/encomiums which are being bestowed upon it. The story is 
>f the Great Constable of Bourbon ; its scenes and its times 
readily lend themselves to the play of the romantic incident 
and the weaving of skilful plots. The story is marked by a) 
style of singular refinement. — American , Nov, 16. 

At all booksellers or will be sent , 
postpaid , upon receipt of price by 

F. M. BUCKLES & COMP A NT 

y-11 East 16th Street, New York 


Hagar of the Pawn-Shop 


By FERGUS HUME, 

2Q6 pages , size Cloth , j stampings , $1,00* 

Those who like detective stories will get much enjoy- 
ment out of the ten in this book, which have connection 
enough to give them a certain continuity. Hagar, a gypsy 
girl, has a wonderful personality, great shrewdness, penetra- 
tion, aud judgment, beside being very handsome, dignified 
and self-respecting. There are ten different customers, each 
of whom brings some peculiar article to pawn, and the article 
has a story of its own, or a very strange mystery. She 
unravels the mystery, brings criminals to their punishment, 
and restores fortunes. It is all cleverly done, and Hagar’s 
sagacity is something to be admired. The author is Fergus 
Hume. — Literary World , Nov. 25. 

Hagar Stanley, a gypsy, and niece of the dead wife of a 
miserly old London pawnbroker, is driven by the unwelcome 
attentions of a gypsy half-breed suitor to flee from her tribe 
in the New Forest. She takes refuge with old Jacob Dix, 
the pawnbroker, who, before his death, is trapped by a cheap 
lawyer into trying unsuccessfully to disinherit his son in favor 
of Hagar, who defeats the plot, only to discover that the 
son is the man who drove her from the gypsy tribe. The 
adventures of the two form the material for Mr. Hume’s new 
story . — The Mail and Express, Oct. 26. 

This is a volume of detective stories by Fergus Hume, 
whose “ Mystery of a Hansom Cab” wTl be recalled as a 
clever bit of writing. Between “The Coming of Hagar” 
and “The Passing of Hagar” are grouped ten stories, each 
bearing a separate interest, but each linked together so that 
they follow in natural order . Hagar is an interesting young 
Gypsy who comes into charge of a pawn-shop of very doubt- 
ful character in a somewhat unusual way. Her adventures 
and those of her customers are entertaining and lively and 
the tales are of a stirring character. When Conan Doyle, 
with Sherlock Holmes, lifted detective .stories to a higher 
plane than they had occupied since the days of Edgar Allen 
Poe, he opened the way for other writers to explore the field. 
Fergus Hume has done so with much success ; and the present 
volume is sure of a numerous clientage among those who 
like the bizarre in fiction. — American. 

At all booksellers or •will be senty 
postpaid , upon receipt of price by 

& M. BUCKLES & COMPANV 

9- II East i6tb Street, New York 


The Good Mrs . Hypocrite 


By “RITA ” 

284 pages, size x 5, Cloth , j stampings , 


“Good Mrs. Hypocrite,” a study in self-righteousness, 
is a most enjoyable novel by “ Rita.” It has little of plot, 
and less of adventure, but is the study of a single character 
and a narration of her career. But she is sufficiently unique 
to absorb the attention, and her purely domestic experiences 
are quite amusing. She is the youngest daughter of a Scotch 
family, angular as to form and sour as to feature. She had 
an aggressive manner, was selfish, and from girlhood set her- 
self against all tenderness of sentiment. Losing her parents, 
she tried her hand as a governess, went to her brother in 
Australia, returned to England and joined a sisterhood in 
strange garb, and her quarrelsome disposition and her habit 
of quoting scripture to set herself right made her presence 
everywhere objectionable. For this old maid was very re- 
ligious and strict as to all outward forms. Finally she went to 
live with an invalid brother. She discharged the servant, 
chiefly because she was plump and fair of feature, and she 
replaced her with a maid as angular as herself, straight from 
Edinbro’. The maid was also religious and quoted scripture, 
and the fun of the story lies in the manner in which the 
woman who had had her way so long was beaten by own 
Weapons. — Bookseller , Newsdealer and Stationer . 

The Scotch character is held up in this story at its worst. 
All its harshness, love of money, unconscious hypocrisy, 
which believes in lip-service while serving but its own self, 
are concentrated in the figure of the old spinster who takes 
charge of her invalid brother’s household. She finds a match, 
however, in the Scotch servant she hires, hard like herself, 
but with the undemonstrative kindness that seems to be a 
virtue of the race. The book lacks the charm that lies at 
the root of the popularity of the books of the “Kailyard” 
school. In its disagreeable way, however, it is consistent, 
though the melodramatic climax is not the ending one has a 
right to expect. — The Mail and Express . 

At all booksellers or will be sent , 

postpaid , upon receipt of price by 


F. M. BUCKLES & COMPANY 

g-11 East 16th Street , New York 


A Rational Marriage 

By FLORENCE MARRY AT 

296 PageSy Size 7% x 5 , Clothy Ink and Goldy $1-25. 


A Rational Marriage is the title of the book, which is Florence 
Marryat’s latest contribution to her circle of readers. It belongs to 
that class of light literature which is enjoyed by those who read only 
for the pleasure of the hour, and will, doubtless, meet with approval 
from the novel reading public. 

The story is of a young woman of rather Bohemian proclivities who 
lives in a flat and acts as secretary to an elderly nobleman. She has 
“ expectations” from her grandfather, but only in the event of her re- 
maining single, as the old gentleman has decided dislike 1 or matrimony. 

How it all turned out may be gathered from the book which comes 
from the publishing house oi F. M. Buckles & Co., New York. 

— Toledo Blade , Feb. 8. 

The late Florence Marryat had a fine appreciation of a humorous 
situation, and she used it to good purpose in this story, which is based 
on a clandestine marriage. When rooms are reserved at a certain place 
for “Mr. and Mrs. Smith,” and two couples answering to that name 
make their simultaneous appearance, there is apt to be some explain- 
ing necessary. The embarassments resulting from hasty marriages, 
in which there is an object in preserving secrecy has been the theme 
of both novelist and playwright, but the lamented author of this vol- 
ume has succeeded in extracting about all the humor and aggravation 
that can be found in the situation. . Fancy a man having to play a 
game of freeze-out with his own wife as the attraction, and yet not 
daring to acknowledge the relationship ! And the fact that the man is 
a journalist makes it all the more enjoyable. 

The volume is a handsome one, the coyer design being particularly 
attractive . — Rochester Herald , Feb. 9. 

“A Rational Mp-’-iage,” by the late Florence Marryat, daughter 
of the famous Captain Marryat’ is not a strong story, but it was written 
with a praiseworthy purpose that shines forth from every page. The 
purpose is to show the magic power of love. A clever, independent 
young women, who has formed her own conclusions regarding matri- 
mony, and a bright young newspaper man enter into a marriage 
agreement with the understanding that everything is to go on exactly 
as before the ceremony. The young man agrees because it is the only 
way to secure her, and they are united by a magistrate. Then follow 
complications ; uneasy days and sleepless nights, and all the woes pos- 
sible to those who, reckoning, without love, enter the matrimonial state 
After a judicious amount of trial and tribulations the clouds break 
away for a bright and satisfactory ending. A few contrasting ex- 
amples of conjugal bliss and single unhappiness are thrown in quite 
effectively .— -Chicago Tribune. 

At all booksellers or will be sent , 
postpaid, upon receipt of priee by 

F. M. BUCKLES & COMPANY 

g-xi East i6tb Street, New York 


In Londons Heart 


By GEORGE R. SIMS 
435 pages, size 7% x 5, Cloth , Ink and Gold , $1.95 

George R c Sim’s name is associated with melodrama, and in h:s latest 
novel, “ In London’s Heart,” the melodramatic element is decidedly tc 
the fore, though lovers of exciting fiction — of stories where struggling 
human nature and bad, bad villains produce hairbreadth scenes — will find 
rt made up of absorbing materials. The hero is Stephen Alison, a ticket* 
of-leave-man, etc., etc., whose sentence was scarcely the result of his own 
crime, and who is anxious, like so many of his own class from poor Bob 
Brierly downwards, to lead a new life. The desire to sever himself from 
his old associates is not so easy to accomplish, and gradually he falls into 
bad company again. Having no money, he agrees with some old con- 
federates to accompany a dissipated young nobleman abroad, with the inten- 
tion of killing him and then claiming the insurance money which the 
sharpers have already got the victim to assign to them. But before this 
delightful little scheme can be set actually working, the nobleman is mur- 
dered at his house in Grosvenor place, and suspicion falls on Stephen. The 
rest of the book is a triumphant effort to clear Stephen, and everybody is 
finally punished or rewarded in due measure. — Albany Argus* 

“In London’s Heart, ” by George R. Sims, is the story of an English 
“ ticket-of-leave ” convict, who was desirous of living a new life, but 
found it difficult to get away from his old associates. He returns to his old 
ways, but by an astonishing incident becomes a millionaire. From that 
time on the storv becomes highly sensational, and the reader who wants 
“'•hrilling excitement” gets it in liberal measure. — Cleveland Plaindealer . 

“ In London c Heart,” by George R„ Sims, is another proof of this 
author’s power to write a good melodramatic story. It is full of trouble 
and struggle, plotting and mystery, critical situations and stirring incidents. 
Moreover, it is coherent and readable and will prove popular with readers of 
adventurous fiction. — Rochester Democrat and Chronicle . 

To be^in with a gentlemen who is also a ticket-of-leave man and end 
*p with the same gentleman in his brother’s place as a millionaire after a 
series of the most alarming and sensational adventures is George R Sims' 
Way of telling “Tn London’s Heart.” The stoiy is a rattle*. It isn’t 
exactly a detective or mystery story ; but it is the good old melodrama of 
an earlier day brought into the present age for its entertainment, if not its 
edification. There is a detective, of course, but he is friendly to the.- 
gentleman-criminal, instead of being a mere sleuth, and the book contain . £ ; 
other novel features »vhich are enough to delight a varied and youthft 
audience. — Chicago Evening Post . 

At all booksellers or will be sent , postpaid , upon receipt of price by 

9 F, M. BUCKLES & COMPANY 

q-it East i6th Street, New York 







* 


LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 


I l l 

OOD5EQ i: 3DS4^ 


4 




